“No?”
“I mean, yes obviously, but…”
Now it’s his turn to be flustered.
Seeing him giddy is almost endearing.
I find myself torn between loyalty and longing.
“You know it's more than that. Remember our night on the couch?”
As if I could forget.
“When we talked until four in the morning?”
“Yes. That's the Mark I want to be with.”
I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me.
“I can't…” I swallow.
But Olsen bends the rules, brushing a thumb across my lower lip.
“Tell me to stop, and I will.”
Teasing my legs apart under the table, he runs a warm hand along my thigh.
God, it feels good. I’m so close to surrender.
His mouth is right next to my ear.
“You deserve to be loved out loud,” he whispers. “The way I would. If you let me.”
Too far. I’ve let this go too far.
Gathering my things in a hurry, I shove them into the bag.
???
I make it as far as the bottom step before I feel the tug.
Olsen has looped a finger inside my shoulder strap.
“Talk to me,” he begs, pressing me against a pillar.
“Tell me I'm imagining things. That you don't want this too?”
“You know it's not that simple,” I sigh.
“It could be,” Olsen smiles. “You could be happy.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe… but?”
“I’m scared to tell Porter goodbye.”
A hand caresses my cheek.
