Well. I’m glad he’s feeling better.

Something sharp jabs me in the side, a nail or something sticking out of the wall at my back. Great. Now there’s a tear in my shirt.

He drops my legs and turns away.

I grab my slacks from the floor, sliding them back on.

It’s always like this with Mark, quick, brutal, and fevered.

At first, it all seemed so romantic. Like he’s starved and desperate for me. Like he wants me. He needs me. Me. I’m important. A heady feeling for someone who’s never been in demand for anything or anyone.

But in this moment, insight wedges open a crack in my mind, bringing a light so piercing that what it illuminates has to be true: a thought I’ve been missing, or more likely, avoiding. This isn’t a rush of lust, must-have-you-or-die kind of frenzy. It’s a more frantic and panicked and I-have-to-escape-this-right-now kind of frenzy.

“How was that for a stress reliever?” He tosses me a smirk over his shoulder, disposing of the condom in a trash can in the corner.

It was about as stress relieving as a root canal. “Great. Except my pitch didn’t go so great. They . . .” I swallow. I can’t even say it.

But he speaks before I can shove the rest of the words out, pulling up his skinny distressed jeans and turning to face me. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Hey, Presley’s your friend. You think she’ll go out with me?”

I blink. “What?”

“Presley.”

Blood rushes from my head to my toes, making me lightheaded. This cannot be happening. Is he really asking me about another woman after we . . . after we just—?

“You two are friends, right? You’re like the only one she really talks to.”

“Um—”

He steps closer, crowding me against the wall in the cramped space. “I know she’s only worked here for a few months, but she seems to like you, so I just thought you might have some inside intel.”

I’m frozen. My mouth is full of cotton. Say something. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, Presley is great. I, um, I, uh, didn’t know we were seeing other people.”

“Who? Me and you?” His brows lift in surprise.

“I-I thought we were like, casually dating or something?” It’s not an irrational assumption, is it? Considering he was just inside me?

He chuckles and rubs my arms. It’s not a soothing motion. It makes my skin crawl.

What am I doing? Have I really spent the last two months sleeping with him just because I have no other options?

“Casual being the operative word there, sweetheart.”

His smile is light, bemused. Like I’m a cute little bunny who’s being silly.