Page 88 of The Liar's Reckoning

I straighten up. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t want to let you out of my sight again until I absolutely have to.”

“When can I see you again?”I ask because he’s turning me intothat guyafter all.

He immediately rolls over to face me, having been about to leave the bed. “I can make almost any morning work. You know that.”

“I didn’t know if it’d be different since you’ll be working more.”

“I’ll be here,” he says gently. “For as long as you want me.”

I hate it when he says that. LikeI’min any danger of leaving. “That’s kinda the thing,” I say. “I do want you.”

His frown is confused and kind. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean, but you will at some point, right?”Fuck, why am I doing this now?“Like at some point she’ll get pregnant, and she’ll need you around more when you’re in town. You’ll have a kid.” I might be spiraling. “I know this isn’t forever,” I sum up.

He grimaces, the same way he does every time his marriage enters the conversation. “We don’t have to write the ending right this second, do we?”

“No. I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“Why did you?” he presses.

“Because you’re leaving, I guess.” That’s partly true.

“I don’t mind staying longer if we need to talk.”

God, no. That sounds ominous. I’m supposed to be the fun fling, not the clinging mistress.

Graham shifts uncomfortably, but he firmly plants himself back on the bed, facing me. “You’re different, you know?”

Do I ever. But I’m not sure what difference he’s referring to. “How’s that?”

“Is this enough for you? Am I?”

I swallow hard, feeling dissected, all my soft insides on display. I blame the time apart. Even though we talk every day, he walked in, and I acted like I’ve been dying without him. Like he’s the only thing that could resuscitate me. I showed my hand in a way I think I’ve somehow managed not to until now. I’m usually the king of playing it cool, but not with Graham.

I can easily see why this version of me might be less appealing. I wouldn’t want me like this either. I turn away, reaching for my shorts on the floor next to the bed. “You’re enough. I promise I’m not asking for more.”

“You’re asking about the future…”

“I just asked when I could see you again, dude. It doesn’t mean I want to run away with you.”

I feel his hand on my shoulder. I freeze, and he says, “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“You can’t be all over me one second and indifferent the next. We’re past that, right?”

We. This whole conversation revolves around that word. That he and I make a unit. Anus. I shouldn’t want that. Shouldn’t like the sound of it so much because “we” are doomed. There’s not a grain of hope for “us.”

“If we’re past that, then why would you ask if you’re enough?” I ask.

He sighs. “All I’m saying is I’d understand if you don’t want to wait around for me.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, shirking his touch and getting out of bed. “If you don’t want me, just say it.”

“That’s not even close to what I’m saying.”

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