Chapter 38
Chapter
When I get to Mark Winterson’s place on Sunday afternoon, I stop outside the door and take a few deep breaths before ringing the bell.
Okay, you’ve got this. Don’t think about Greg. Now is the time to compartmentalize and pretend you’re in love with Mark Winterson.
I ring the bell, and it takes him a while to answer. I’m about to text, but the door finally opens, and there’s the man I’ve spent all week searching for, looking like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Sorry,” he says, “I know I said I wanted to teach you tennis today, but…”
“Mark, honey, what’s wrong?” I’m trying to put all the sweetness I can into my tone, and he gives me a confused glance. Shit, did I overdo it?
But then he shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “Been working some late nights on this Erickson project. Maybe I should take a nap before we head out.”
“Do you want me to leave? Come back later?”
“No, stay,” he says, pulling me in by the wrist.
He leads me over to the couch, and when I sit down on one end, he puts a pillow in my lap and rests his head on it.
“Sometimes I just feel like I’m in over my head,” he mumbles.
God, tell me about it.
From this angle, he seems like a soft, breakable thing, not imposing at all. I put a hesitant hand on the top of his head, and he nestles into it.
A weird little swell of affection kicks up—I guess these things don’t turn off on a dime—and my anxiety spikes, realizing I don’t quite understand what to do here. Should I get him to talk more about Erickson?
“Like there are these—” He yawns. “These expectations and there’s no way I’m going to meet them.”
“I feel like that all the time.”
He opens his eyes. “Why do you feel that way?”
Whatever I felt a second ago ebbs back again.
“We’re talking about you right now,” I say, running my fingers through his hair, and his eyelids flutter closed.
“Sometimes I think—Fuck, I’m screwed.” A smug smile creeps up on his face. “But I always pull it off in the end.”
We’re really not the same, after all.
“Does Erickson put a lot of pressure on you?”
He curls up a bit more and presses his cheek into the pillow. “Yeah,” he says, voice thicker with sleep. “But it’s because he thinks I have potential. And he trusts me.”
“Did you know him before you started working here?”
“Mm-hmm. He recruited me. He’s, um.” He swallows. “He’s a friend of my dad’s.”
“Oh, so you’ve known him for a while.”
He rolls onto his back. “I know what you’re thinking.” There’s a defensive edge in his voice.
My thoughts are just GERBO GERBO GERBO. “I doubt that,” I say evenly.
“I earned this, okay,” he bristles, shadowboxing with an argument he assumes I’m going to make. “I work hard.”
“You’re stressed,” I say, stroking his hair. “Let’s talk about something nice.”
He curls back up on his side. “For example?”
My mind is drawing a blank, and my superego is shouting, Don’t say GERBO!
“Tell me about something you like.”
A tiny puff of air comes out of his nose. “Attention.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Don’t you get enough attention?”
“Your attention specifically.” He nuzzles his nose into my wrist. “It feels like an accomplishment.”
My heart waffles, and a distant voice in the back of my head shouts at the rest of me, Come on, really? You’re going to fall for that?
“You have my full attention,” I say, kneading his earlobe between my thumb and forefinger, and the corners of his mouth curl up.
Mark Winterson opens his eyes, looking overcome with affection.
“Do you have anything to wear to a wedding?” he asks, and I nearly choke on my spit.
“A wedding?”
“This weekend. I had a plus-one when I RSVP’d, but…”
Oh God, what happened to the last girl?
“Anyway, I still have it. I didn’t update them.” His eyelids drift shut again, like it’s too much effort to keep them open. “Would you come with me? Sorry it’s last-minute.”
“What’s the dress code? I…might not have anything.”
“It won’t be a problem,” he says vaguely.
But before I can ask him to explain, he’s snoring already, out cold.