Page 45 of Gap Control

"I'm still scared."

"Me, too."

Neither of us said anything after that. He didn't move. Neither did I.

Mason still had the sketchpad open on his lap, but he'd stopped using the pencil.

I rubbed my chin. "I didn't mean to make it worse."

My voice was less funny and more me. It seemed the right moment for that.

Mason glanced at me. "You didn't."

"I did," I insisted. "I didn't mean to, but I did."

He let out a breath. "It's not that simple."

I sank onto the bench across from him, close enough that our knees could've touched if we leaned just a little, but we didn't.

"You ever say something that you thought was funny in the moment, but the second it came out, you knew you'd opened the wrong door?"

He didn't answer right away.

I tried again. "I was trying to shut Jen Walsh down. That was the whole point. One joke. That's all it was supposed to be."

He nodded. "Except now people think we're something."

"I know."

"And we're not."

I winced. I tried to smile to hide the pain. "Yeah. We're not."

Mason closed the sketchpad. Every edge lined up when he slid the elastic band over the cover.

I wanted to ask what he'd been drawing, but I resisted.

Mason sighed. "You didn't ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"If I were okay with any of it. The fake dating. The hug going viral. The interviews. The comments. You never asked."

I stared at the floor. "You're right. I didn't."

"Why?"

It wasn't an angry question. It was honest.

I swallowed. "Because if I asked, you might've said no. And I didn't want it to end."

Mason's expression didn't change. He set the sketchpad beside him on the bench. His thumb traced the edge of it absently.

"I don't like being seen," he said.

"I know."

"I like it even less when it feels like I didn't get to choose."

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