I’m so surprised, a laugh bursts out of me, inappropriately loud. “Is that so?”
He chortles like it’s a cute story. “I was going to ask you about your co-workers. Find out which ones are, let’s say, less essential.”
A chill runs up my spine, and he shifts back onto his side so he can look me in the eye.
“But that’s only how it started.” His thumb and forefinger encircle my wrist, the lightest handcuff. “I wanted to be honest with you about it because my feelings changed. A lot. It surprised me. The more I saw of you, the more I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What I’m trying to say is—”
Mark Winterson lets a ragged breath out. He actually seems nervous. “You really got me. Hook, line, and sinker. At first this was just a fun distraction, but I haven’t felt like this since…since…”
The echo of what his sister said piques my interest. “Since…?”
He shakes his head and seems a bit pained, like he’s mad at me for making him feel something.
I groan. “Come on, you can’t do that. I’ll tickle you and make you sweaty.”
He has mentioned several times, over the six weeks we’ve been dating, how much he hates being sweaty.
I reach for his armpit, and he clamps his arms against his sides.
“I hate this story. It makes me sound like a loser.”
I give him my most innocent look. “I won’t judge.”
Mark Winterson closes his eyes like he’s getting a migraine. “Remember Clarissa?”
“Zack’s wife?”
He grimaces. “She was my girlfriend in college. Thought we were going to get married, for real.”
My gasp is genuine. “And she dumped you for your cousin?”
“I found out she was cheating on me.”
“Oh my God, Mark, that’s awful.” I’m trying to focus, but my brain is screamingHeartbreak year!“How old were you, even? When you found all that out.”
“Like twenty? And Zack was a fuckingeighteen-year-old freshman,but she said he obviously had more drive.” Mark Winterson runs his hands over his face. “And then I still had to see them at family gatherings a few times a year. Totally humiliating.”
“That’s terrible.” I put a hand on his arm and rack my brain for something comforting to say. “You seem very driven. Also, you’rewayhotter than him. Like, objectively. Hands down. No question.”
Mark Winterson laughs in a way that is probably meant to be self-deprecating, but he’s obviously delighted to hear it. “You’re funny.”
“Nah, just calling ’em like I see ’em.” I give him my best Bugs Bunny grin. “You’re smarter than him too. And better personality, for sure. He seemed like a dick.”
“Don’t girls like that, though?” His smile is taunting.
“Do they? Seems like a big population to generalize about.”
“Oh, okay, didn’t realize you were a social scientist.” Mark Winterson chuckles and glances at the ceiling. “Anyway, it was long enough ago that it’s a bad look for me to still be mad about it. Everyone else is like,Obviously they are a better fit, they’re really serious, blah blah.”
So is that why he’s doing whatever he’s doing? Going balls to the wall to impress Erickson and become his number two so he can outshine his cousin?
The things I’ve read about him slowly fit together with the story he just told. He started his undergrad at UPenn, where Zack graduated (I learned from Google), and where he must have met Clarissa. But partway through undergrad, Mark Winterson somehow transferred to the London School of Economics.
There’s an uncomfortable wobble in my stomach as I recognize the similarity. I got my heart broken and moved across the country. He moved across an ocean.
“Anyway, it stings a lot less now,” he says with a small smile, squeezing my wrist again. “Thanks for that.”
Mark Winterson’s phone buzzes on the nightstand, and he grabs it.
