I feel his hand on my waist, causing me to shiver, and it rests on the bare skin where my T-shirt has ridden up. I don’t want it to stop; I want to stay on this plane of existence that’s become ours, surrounded by an overwhelming sense of euphoria that has my chest feeling both heavy and light at the same time.

But then he pulls away abruptly, and it ends.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, breathless and bewildered.

“This is wrong, Alina,” he finally tells me, his voice hoarse with emotion, and my frown deepens.

“What?” I blink, unable to keep myself from feeling a sting of hurt. “Why is it wrong?”

He changes his position, releasing me from the cage of his arms and sitting upright instead. I follow suit, pushing myself up until I’m sitting, too, looking at him in confusion. He sighs, resting his head in his hands.

“We shouldn’t get distracted,” he says. “There’s too much going on right now.”

I don’t believe he intends the words to be hurtful, but the sting multiplies tenfold. “Is that all you think this is for me?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he tells me, shaking his head, dragging a hand over his face wearily.

“Look, Mason,” I say, trying to keep up the courage to wear my heart on my sleeve. “I have feelings for you.” The statement hangs in the air, and his expression goes slack. “I’d appreciate it if you were honest with me. Don’t give me any excuses, just tell me straight up that you don’t feel the same, and then we can move on.”

He looks away, taking great interest in the comforter spread out over the bed, running a hand over it. “I can’t do that,” he says finally.

“Why not?”

“Because I’d be lying.”

My breath catches, my heart coming to an abrupt halt once more. Given the way he just ended things, I wasn’t anticipating that answer, and it only serves to make me more confused. “Then, why . . . ?”

“It’s not the right time,” he reiterates, longing evident in his expression. “So much is happening—so much has already happened—and you’re emotionally vulnerable right now. I’m not going to take advantage of that.”

While I understand his reasoning, it doesn’t stop the crushing weight of disappointment from crashing down on my chest. Against my will, my bottom lip trembles, and he curses under his breath when he senses the impending breakdown, reaching out to cup my face with his hand, worry etched into his features.

“Hey,” he says, thumb grazing my cheek, “it’s all right.”

I sniffle, reaching up to swipe away the first tear that escapes, trying to think of a way to properly voice my thoughts. “I just wanted one thing,” I confess, my voice barely above a broken whisper. “One good thing. I wanted you.”