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He stares at me. “What?”

“The arrangement. The stupid rules. All of it.” I shove my arms into the sleeves, missing the hole on the first try. I soften my voice as I toe on my shoes. “We tried right? But it’s not working. We will go back to friends or roommates or whatever it is you want.”

“I thought it was working.”

“Well, you’re wrong. Because it’s not.” I hear how awful that sounds, and I hate it. “I’m going to take a walk.”

“Wait—” He’s moving, shifting his experiment to the side and sliding off of his bed. My heart is in my throat. “Don’t go. I didn’t mean it. I was just focused. I get that way sometimes. I’m sorry.”

There is panic in his voice, and it stops me short with my hand on the doorknob.

I look back. He’s standing in the middle of the room in socks, sweats, and a t-shirt, glasses slightly askew, the experiment abandoned like it suddenly matters less than me leaving. I’ve never seen him do that. Not for food. Not for a movie. Not even when I asked him to come to Petoskey.

“You don’t have to apologize for working,” I say. My voice comes out quieter. “That’s not—I know you get like that. I’ve known it since that first day.”

“Then stay.” He takes a step and stops. “Please. I can put this away. I’ll eat. You brought food.”

I huff a sad laugh. “I ate it already.” I let go of the knob and face him fully. “You’ve been distant since I kissed you in public. I’ve been trying to tell myself it was the rule, but maybe it was just me. I’m not good enough for you. And I can’t keep trying to figure it out. It’s making me feel crazy.”

He swallows. His hands flex at his sides, then go still.

“It was the rule,” he says. “And I panicked. That doesn’t mean I don’t—” He stops. Starts again. “I don’t want to stop, I thought it was working.”

I laugh once, helpless. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

I want to believe him. I want it so badly it feels stupid. But I know how I get in relationships, they consume me and I can feel it happening with him already, and he hasn’t even let us put a label on it. At least not a label I agree with. I drag a hand over my face and look at the tray he shoved aside for me, then at his mouth, which outside of this room I’m not allowed to want to kiss.

“Okay,” I say, but I’m pretty sure we both know I don’t mean it. “I’m still going to take a walk. I need to get my head on straight before I say something else I can’t take back.”

His face falls, and I hate it.

“But you’re coming back?”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “It’s my room, too.”

FORTY-EIGHT

QUINN

The second the door shuts, I know I can’t let him walk away. He’s right, I’ve been putting distance between us, but it’s not because I don’t want to call him my boyfriend. I’m pretty sure it’s the opposite.

So, I do something that is completely out of my wheelhouse and I follow him. I call out to his retreating back, but he doesn’t pause, so I run down the hallway in my socks. Passing another guy that lives on our floor and two open doors. But none of that matters so much as reaching him.

“Daniel,” I gasp as I reach him. “Wait⁠—”

He slows to a stop and pivots toward me. “Quinn?” The confusion on his face makes my heart pound uncontrollably in my chest.

I suck in a breath, both from chasing him and to try to steady myself. “Don’t go. We said we don’t run away. We communicate. Ru—rule four.”

It’s the only thing I have to stop him. I know he said he was done and it wasn’t working, but it was good, before I got in my head about my feelings.

He swipes his tongue over his lips and glances down the hall. I follow his gaze and see two guys watching us curiously. I shake my head to clear it and ignore them.

I reach out, touching his arm. “Rule four, Daniel.”

It’s a plea and a reminder all at once. His face softens, and some emotion plays over his face. But it moves too quickly for me to catalog it.