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Mark grins. "How could I say no to you?"

I smile back at him.

"But—" his expression turns serious "—we need to lay some ground rules."

"Like what?"

"I told you before that I don’t do relationships. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about sex, but you need to promise me you won’t decide you want a ‘normal’ relationship, because that’s not something I can do. We canstay friends, and we can keep doing things like this, but it’s not going to last forever."

My heart aches at his warning, but I still want it. I want whatever he’ll give me, whatever moments I can get even if he doesn’t want me in the same way I want him. It’ll be enough to spend the nights like this, lying in his arms after he makes me feel good in ways I never thought possible.

"Okay. I understand."

"Perfect." He kisses my forehead and squeezes me again before adding, "We should probably get some sleep."

"We should." Even though I don’t want to. I want to stay in his arms and stare at him all night, to feel his hands explore where no other man has touched me.

"Goodnight, Claire."

"Goodnight."

But despite my exhaustion, I can’t fall asleep, because as much as Mark says he doesn’t do relationships, the way he’s acted this weekend makes me think otherwise. I’m not sure if it’s some sort of mental block for him or if he’s been hurt in the past, but regardless, I’ll play by his rules, even if a small part of me thinks that maybe he’s wrong about what this could be.

I won’t keep my hopes up, but with the way my feelings have grown for him, I already know this won’t be a clean break for me. And I think he feels the same, even if he’d refuse to admit it.

Because if I’m being honest, I love him. I love him so fucking much it hurts. My whole life, I thought I knew what love was, but it’s only now that I realize how misguided I was. Love isn’t something molded by fear, conformity, and purity; instead, it grows in safety and acceptance, not because of perfection but despite it. Mark has shown me that regardlessof my flaws, I’m worthy of love.

Even if he hasn’t said it yet. Even if he never will.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CLAIRE

Mark and I managed to keep our hands to ourselves for the rest of the vacation, which was thankfully only two more days. He claimed he wanted me to experience things in a comfortable environment where we wouldn’t be interrupted by the sounds of people stomping past our room and where we wouldn’t have to worry about others hearing us.

The idea that we would need a place where we could make noise had made me even more curious about how all of this will go…

The plane ride home hadn’t been nearly as bad as the one there now that I knew what to expect, but Mark still made sure to sit next to me and hold my hand during takeoff and landing. He may say he’s not cut out for relationships, but all of his actions seem to suggest otherwise.

When we finally step through the door of Mark’s apartment and drop our suitcases, everything seems almost asawkward as it did the first time I came here. We’re looking at each other, gauging the other’s interest while trying not to be too obvious about it.

"I’m going to put my clothes in the washer if that’s alright," I say, because standing here pretending we’re both not thinking of tearing each other’s clothes off is torture.

"That’s fine. I’m going to take a shower." He sounds about as awkward as I feel as he runs a hand through his hair before heading down the hall.

It’s been two whole days since he showed me how I could make myself feel by touching myself, and all I can think about now is how it will feel whenhetouches me instead.

A couple hours later, the apartment is quiet aside from the distant hum of the dryer and the soft tapping of rain against the windows. I heard Mark getting out of the shower over an hour ago, and he hasn’t emerged from his room since.

Assuming he must be sleeping when I don’t notice any light coming from under his door, I tiptoe into the kitchen for a late-night snack. We had eaten on the way home, but the time difference from our trip must be messing with my hunger cues.

The small light above the stove provides just enough illumination for me to find my way around the kitchen. I decide to keep it simple and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which I take to the small table near the window, and I sit in the dark watching as the drizzle outside turns into sheets of rain whipping in the wind.

A dark form appears in my peripheral vision, and I jump at the sudden intrusion. Mark stands there, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of sweatpants. My breath hitches at the sight of hisbare torso illuminated by the soft yellow light coming from the kitchen.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to startle you."

I swallow hard and force myself to stop staring. "It's okay. I just didn't realize you were still up."