Page 140 of And Now, Back to You

“I’m mustering up the courage,” she whispers back.

I reach for her hands and grip her fingers tight. She doesn’t immediately pull away or try to give me a wet willy, so I know it’s serious.

“Are you sick? Do you need money?” I inch closer. “Is it about your sister? Do you need—”

Gianna shakes her head quickly. She squeezes my hands, and with a completely serious and utterly devastated look on her face, she says:

“I’m dating Mark.” She exhales a ragged sound. “I have feelings for him,” she adds in a rush.

I stare at her. “I’m sorry. Did you just say Mark? Cameraman Mark?”

Gianna nods.

“He dates people?”

She bites her thumbnail. “He’s a bit of a slut, actually.” I blink three times in rapid succession. “All of it happened really fast. You know my moral opposition to dating, right? Because it reenforces—”

“The patriarchal inclinations of our society. Yes, I am aware.”

Gianna nods, eyes bright. “Right. You get it. But lately he’s just been”—her hands wave wildly between us—“everywhere. Doing things for me. Nice things. Did you know he’s nice, Delilah?”

“I’ve never known him to be particularly nice, but—”

“Except sometimes he’s mean. He’s mean and I like it,” she whispers, sounding awed. “He does this thing where he—”

“No,” I interrupt. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

If I know any of the specifics, I’ll never be able to look at Mark again. Mark, who is apparently a bit of a slut.

“I just need you to know the sex is unbelievable,” Gianna whispers.

“Great.” I press my palm to the middle of my forehead and rub furiously, trying to chase away that mental image before it can take root. “I’m so happy for you, but please never speak of it again.”

Gianna buttons her lips shut, watching me expectantly.

“I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “You came over here looking like someone poisoned your cat.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“You know what I mean. I thought something was wrong,” I clarify. Her knee is still jumping up and down. “Is there something wrong? Has he . . . forced you to do something you’re not—”

“No! God, no. Nothing like that. I’m just—”

I’ve never had a conversation in so many whispered half sentences, the both of us curled together in my cubicle. If anyone walks by and pokes their head over my desk, they’re going to think we’re launching a drug trade.

“You like him,” I realize in a moment of sudden, delightful clarity. Only Gianna would be disturbed about something so . . . wholesome. “Gianna.” I laugh. “It’s okay that you like him.”

“It’s terrible,” she hisses.

“Why?”

“Because I am a strong, independent woman and I don’t need a man to make me feel like I’m falling headfirst off the side of a dock.”

I grin. “Sometimes that can be a good feeling.”

She peeks up at me. “Can it?”

I think of Jackson with his face buried in my neck. The way he curls his arms around me in his sleep, tucking me firmly against him. Sometimes I can’t take a deep enough breath and it’s—it’s perfect, like that.