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His eyes slowly closed with a grimace. "I fucking hate every shitty person. I hate Julien. I hate whoever hurt you. Basic kindness shouldn't be shocking. What else?"

Did he seriously want me to list everything I liked about him so he could argue with me? "Jackson."

"Marley. I'm serious. What is so good about me that you think I'm faking? Or lying?"

"It's not that."

"It is." He put his hand on mine. "Most guys are pretty basic. Hell, most humans. It takes work to be an asshole. To craft personas and trick people. I can't pretend to save my life. I run from complication. What you see is what you get with me."

Exactly. This is why I can't have you.

He frowned. "What?"

I turned to look at the view. So beautiful. So simple. Could my life ever be like this?

"Marley, please just say it. Whatever it is. Was it that I can't pretend? Because I can't. I can't even pretend to not notice that look on your face and leave it alone."

"Let's just enjoy our lunch."

He pushed the sandwiches further away. "What else did I say? That I'm basic? I don't see how that's bad."

"It's not."

"I don't like complication? That's it, isn't it? Fuck." His hand came to my face, his thumb stroking in a way that I really, really liked. "There are a lot of different kinds of complicated. My family is the kind I put in a box and avoid. Fake-assed people don't deserve my time. But you? I want your complications."

"You can't say that when you don't know what that means."

"So tell me." He waited, his eyes searching mine.

If I kept it to myself, we might have a hot fling, but he'd know I was lying to him the whole time. If I told him, he might leave and never talk to me again.

I didn't like either option.

But if I had to pick, I would go with honesty. "I'm a writer."

"I know that."

I shook my head. "No, I mean I told you about the television show, but that was more of a distraction from my normal work. I write books. Novels."

"Okay," he drawled.

"And I wrote a series that's kind of popular, which sounds amazing, and it is. It feels good to write something that people enjoy. But...I hit a wall and I stopped writing. There are a lot of people pretty mad at me."

Jackson frowned and leaned back. "They're mad at you? Over a book? That's insane."

And yet it was true. "My life is very complicated right now, Jackson. And I don't know when it won't be."

His thumb kept strumming my skin. "I'm going to be honest, that doesn't sound too complicated. Certainly not enough to make me consider it a problem."

"Trust me, it is."

"I reject that. Fuck them. Write the book, don't write the book. Move to Mars."

"Oh, I have to write the book. And even then," I sighed. "It takes a long time to edit and market a book. By the time it gets published it will be ages from now. Then there will be the reaction. It will inevitably not be what some people want." Part of what paralyzed me was knowing no matter what I did, I was stuck in this endless loop of criticism. Even after I finished the book, it wouldn't just...end.

"Again, fuck them, Marley. If you have to write the book, then I'm supportive. Whatever you need to get it done. But then? Ignore whatever happens after that."

He made it seem so much simpler than it was. Mostly because he didn't fully understand the situation. I could tell him about the online forums filled with hate or the stalker or the incessant mail, but what would that accomplish?