“Not too special, I hope.” He stepped closer; reflexively, she stepped back, steadying herself with a hand against a shelf behind her. “Thank you for the flowers. Nice nod toDusk.”
In response, Jo reached around him for the bouquet on his signing table, snapped off an orange daisy, and tucked it behind his ear.
“I’m a fan, remember?” she said. Her fingers lingered on the side of his face, brushing ever so softly against his cheek.
“How could I forget?” Mal said.
Jo blinked away, and Mal studied her, fascinated by her shyness. Just hours before, this same woman had snatched a microphone out of his hands to lay claim to him, and not too long before that, she’d saved a man’s life with the efficiency of a soldier. Maybe when they first met, he would have thought that sort of boldness was just in her nature. But Jo wasn’t driven by impulse. She moved with intention.
He realized then that Ezra Adelman didn’t matter. He could try all he wanted. When it came down to who could love her harder, Mal would not be beat.
“So I’m yours, huh,” he said, tilting her chin up to him.
“If that’s okay with you,” she said softly.
“It is,” Mal said, “but only if you promise to be mine too.”
Jo bit back a shy smile, finally meeting his eyes. “If I’m not too late,” she said. “If you still want me.”
Mal dropped his forehead against Jo’s, stifling a snort. He’d wanted her since the moment he’d perceived her. Since the second she’d taken his hand to shake.
“Always,” he said, and when he kissed her, it felt like breaking through a finish line, like diving into the deep end and coming up for the first gulp of air.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jo
I awoke the next day, for the second time, in Malcolm Waters’s bed, except this time I felt like I’d been put through the Olympic Trials. Which, in my defense, was not far from the truth. Apparently, sweet Malcolm Waters had been holding back, and now that I’d given him the all clear to take whatever he wanted from me, he’d revealed himself for the beast I’d always suspected him to be. I’d been pressed, folded, twisted, and tossed around like pretzel dough all night. In the best way. I wasn’t even sure I had any endorphins left to release.
“You up?” he said, pressing soft, playful kisses to my shoulder.
“Mmm,” I managed, and Mal took that as a yes, diving under the covers and down my stomach. When he reached his destination, he nipped at my inner thigh, and I threw off the sheets to watch. I liked seeing the full expanse of him: the broad back that tapered to a slim waist, his round, firm shoulders, the crown of his lowered head. It made his teasing all the more potent, to see the self-satisfied glint that appeared in his eyes right before he touched me. And when he finally did, his warm breath becoming a wet, probing tongue—my god.
“You’re so happy,” I said when I came down from my high a few minutes later to find Mal grinning stupidly up at me from between my legs.
“Of course I’m happy,” he said. “You’re here with me.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to pretend that he hadn’t already won me over. Not that Mal wasn’t aware. He flopped onto his side, his grin no less soppy, and pulled me into his chest.
“Okay, I’ve got an item on the agenda,” he informed me. “I’m tired of telling people that I’m ‘seeing someone.’ Was hoping to just call you my girlfriend. Is that cool with you?”
My stomach lurched.
“That’s fine,” I said in a small voice. Mal tipped my face to his, raising an eyebrow at my lack of enthusiasm, and I huffed. “Just... I might not be so good at the girlfriend thing right off the bat. So you’ll have to be patient with me.”
“What do you mean?” Mal asked, his tone neutral: not accusatory or angry, but curious.
I buried my face into his chest, embarrassed. My followers might have interpreted my videos on “consent” and “maintaining healthy boundaries” as relationship advice, but I had no experience whatsoever in relationships. Mostly I’d gotten tired of seeing young women who’d been pressured to forgo condoms by men who promised they were “clean” show up in my clinic with gonorrhea. (Mal, bless him, had offered me his negative test results during our first night together, a gesture I found oddly romantic.)
And besides that, being somewhat responsible for Mal’s emotional well-being when my own was so tenuous was terrifying. I could probably be a halfway decent girlfriend when I was well. But when I wasn’t? When darkness infiltrated my thoughts, and it took all of my energy just to remember to eat, drink, and shower?Mal had already experienced my depression-triggered disappearing acts twice, and both episodes had hurt him. Could our relationship withstand more? The version of Jo that Mal loved was confident, honest, comfortable in her skin. Someone who made him want to be stronger. Someone he wanted to impress. But what if he met the other version: the one who barely believed she had a right to exist?
“I’m used to doing my own thing, I guess? Not really checking in with anyone?” I said, a half-truth. “Like, when I changed my number. A good girlfriend would have called you right away, right? I didn’t really think about that. I just fell right into a slump. And... I don’t know. There’s a lot of etiquette I don’t get. Do we have to see each other every day? Text all the time?”
How long can I disappear for before you’ll be done with me? Twenty-four hours? Thirty-six?
“It’s not prescriptive. We just do what comes naturally, like we have been,” Mal said, kissing my hair. “What’s important is that we’re considerate of each other. That we communicate. Keep each other in the loop.”
I hummed, apprehensive, but didn’t object. Mal had made me greedy and therefore selfish. I knew he had fallen for a facade, but I couldn’t bear to push him away for long enough for him to notice. It felt too good to be in his arms.
