Page 24 of Out of the Dark

But instead of sharing my concern, Mark had simply smiled and raised an eyebrow at me, then assured me that he’d buy me a dress and shoes. When I repeated my second point about not having social skills, he seemed even more amused and promised that I’d fit right in.

I still don’t believe him, but I’m going to try my hardest to make a good impression.

Mark took me to the shopping center and told me to pick out not only a dress and shoes, but some "clothes that fit," as he put it. I’m still getting used to wearing clothes that are a little less modest than what I spent most of my life wearing.The pants and sweaters I had were multiple sizes too big so as not to show off my figure. I wore a lot of dresses at home, but there was no way I’d be bringing those along with me.

It took a lot of time spent in the dressing rooms while Mark patiently waited outside, but I ended up with a few pairs of pants, some well-fitting tops, and a dress for the New Year’s party that feels downright scandalous. The only reason I got it was due to the overly enthusiastic compliments from the group of women around my age in the fitting room who were also shopping for New Year’s outfits. They had insisted it was perfect and a "normal" outfit for an event like this.

Now, I’m making my way to the apartment with a couple bags hung on my arms while Mark carries the other few. I had considered getting makeup, but the idea of figuring out where to start was so daunting that I skipped it. Plus, I would’ve felt guilty spending more of Mark’s money on non-essentials. Maybe another day, when I can buy it myself.

The door shuts with a click behind me, and Mark and I go our separate ways for the evening, already having had dinner while we were out.

Honestly, I’m looking forward to writing in my journal. Putting the words down on paper detailing my life up until this point and my feelings about everything that’s happened has been therapeutic. It gives me a chance to confront all the conflicting emotions I’ve been having. Guilt and relief, anxiety and liberation, missing parts of my life while relieved I’ll never have to go back there again.

I drop my shopping bags in my room and take my time trying on the clothes again, examining my body in the mirror. I’ve always felt plain and unexceptional, but seeing myself in these clothes almost makes me feel… pretty.

After my one-woman fashion show in the safety of mybedroom, I change into sweatpants, turn off the overhead light, switch on the bedside lamp, and get lost in my writing. It’s over an hour later when a noise in the kitchen draws my attention. I glance at the clock, surprised Mark is still awake. Somehow over the past couple weeks, I’ve gone from being slightly terrified of Mark to eagerly awaiting our daily conversations. Something has changed between us, and I know I’m not the only one who feels it. There’s a sort of comfort here, a mutual understanding, especially after our conversation on Christmas.

Deciding I could use a late-night snack anyway, I make my way down the carpeted hall and turn the corner when I’m met with the sight of Mark wrapped in a towel… andonlya towel.

He notices me at the same time I see him, and I freeze, heat creeping up to my cheeks.

"Shit, sorry, I didn’t know you were still awake," Mark says, but he makes no move to cover his bare chest or grab onto the towel slung low around his hips.

"Oh, I—um—it’s okay," I stutter out. "It’s your house." Even in my embarrassment, I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from the soft ridges of muscle covering his massive biceps and chest. With clothes on, it’s clear he’s large but in good shape. But now, there’s nothing left to the imagination. He’s got the sort of physique that shows he doesn’t just work out for show—while his muscles are huge, the prominence of them is softened just slightly. Strong, but not chiseled like a bodybuilder. I want to touch him, to run my hands along the curves of his arms, over his chest. My eyes follow the smattering of dark hair that starts on his chest and trails lower, tapering off right before—

"Enjoying the view?"

My gaze snaps up to Mark’s smug expression, and my facegoes red all over again. I’ve totally been staring and didn’t even realize it. His hair is still wet and falls over his forehead, and he reaches up to push it back right as I turn and practically run back to my bedroom.

Oh my god, how embarrassing.

I flop down on the bed and cover my face with my hands. He was practically naked, and I just stood there staring like a total idiot!

But he looked so good.Sinfullygood.

I wonder what his skin would feel like if he allowed me to touch him in all the ways I’ve never touched a man before…

Ugh. I pick up the bookmarked paperback sitting on the nightstand, attempting to stop thinking about the image of Mark standing there leaning against the counter with his dripping wet hair and that self-satisfied smirk, or the way that towel hung low on his hips in the most unintentionally provocative way. The way he seemed to enjoy my deer-in-the-headlights stare, or the way his soft laughter followed me as I fled down the hallway.

Nope. No way. Not thinking about it at all.

After a good thirty minutes of attempting to read, I toss the book aside in frustration. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve been fighting a losing battle of it the entire time I’ve been here, but every time I replay the image of the heated look he gave me in the kitchen, my stomach swoops and my desire grows stronger.

I’m not sure what he’s doing to me, but in a twisted sort of way, I think I like it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CLAIRE

"What time is the party tonight?" I ask Mark. We’re both sitting at the table in our pajamas with mugs of coffee, pretending like the awkward moment that went down in the kitchen last night never happened.

"It starts at eight, so we should probably leave here thirty to forty minutes before that."

"Got it." I take a sip of coffee and allow more of the tension to leave my body. If he hasn’t mentioned what happened last night by now, hopefully he won’t at all.

We sit in silence as he scrolls on his phone and I stare out the window at the bustling city streets below. After a few minutes, he breaks the silence by asking, "Have you ever been to a New Year’s Eve party before?"

"Not really. We would celebrate the new year, but it was a lot like our Christmas celebrations."

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