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I shove down a surge of disappointment and smile. Thankfully, Leo doesn’t look at me until I’ve manufactured a genuine one. “That sounds great. What time?”

Tie finished, he sweeps a suit jacket off a hanger and shrugs it on. “I’ll have to get back to you. I can’t remember what time my last appointment is. Are you working?”

I nod. “But only until three.”

“Perfect. Are you ready? I can drop you off on my way to the office.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I can?—”

“Amelia.”

I scoff. “That tone doesn’t work on me anymore.”

He stares at me. Patient. Expectant. So freaking handsome. I buckle with a groan.

“Fine, fine. But it’s not because you used the voice. I do what I want.”

He laughs.

Wednesday and Thursday crawl by. I go through the motions. Surf. Work. Grab drinks with my coworker Trish on Wednesday night, have dinner with Dad and Jessica Thursday. Do my nightly journaling. Feed Ferdi. Take long, restless walks. I almost call Dr. Wilson to beg for an emergency appointment, but lean hard on my friends instead.

Thank God for them, otherwise I’d have no clue how to navigate what’s happening between Leo and me. My newer friends are rightly mystified by my lack of so-called dating technique. I try to tell them we’re not dating, but they say sex dates count as dates, at least in the context of how to avoid coming off clingy. I’m not supposed to send text messages like I miss you or the dreaded, Do you miss me, too? and I can’t call him to ask about his day. Also according to them, I’m like a thirteen-year-old girl with her first crush. They have no idea how right they are.

Kinsey and Nix, on the other hand, know the ugly truth. I’ve never—in my entire life—been my authentic self in a relationship, and the consequence is I’m totally out of my depth. Even during the best times with Kevin, I was aware of playing a role. Acting or looking a certain way. Almost like there was a constant spotlight on me, judging my every flaw.

With Leo, it’s a moot point. He is the spotlight. He sees through my pathetic attempts to act like someone else, someone I think he wants. He demands the raw, unfiltered me.

I don’t think he understands the cost. I’m falling, and the only question is when I’ll meet the ground.

Friday is an unexpected day off. Trish has a concert she wants to go to next week and asked if I’d swap. I spend most of the morning in bed. And not because I love sleeping, which I do. I woke up paralyzed with fear that Leo plans to cancel tonight.

I’ve only heard from him once in the last two days. A short text that said he’ll be home by five tonight. When I replied that I’d see him around five thirty, his response wasn’t even a word. Just a letter.

K.

I eventually make coffee and shower, hoping the routine will alleviate the fog in my head. It doesn’t. By mid-afternoon, I’ve cleaned my apartment top to bottom and done three loads of laundry. Still nothing from Leo, but I can’t shake the sense of impending doom.

I call Callum and luck out, catching him between shoots.

“Goldie!”

“I’m losing my mind.”

He laughs. “Again?”

“Not funny,” I gripe. “I’m seeing Leo tonight.”

He whistles. “Third sleepover, huh? Has he manned up yet?”

Callum, like Kinsey, thinks Leo is an ass for refusing to officially date me. Or be seen with me in public. Or text or call between sexcapades.

“I agreed to this,” I remind both Callum and myself. “He’s been completely upfront.”

“He knows you have feelings for him, Mia! It’s fucked up. I’m disappointed in him.”

“Does he?” I echo, mentally scraping my memories of the last two weeks. “I don’t know. Obviously my lady parts like his man parts. We get along really well when we’re not having sex, too. But what have I actually done or said to make him think I have feelings for him? Maybe he’s waiting for me to make that step? Or maybe he’s worried about my, uh, mental state?”

“Remind me to never date my psychiatrist,” grumbles Callum.