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didn’t want to go there. You know it’s kind of like a pimple. If you keep messing with it and focusing on it and glopping all that goop on it, it seems to last forever and take over your life. But if you ignore it, it usually goes away on its own.”
    John let out an annoyed breath.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. Well, that’s just a little childish. Ignoring your problems doesn’t make them go away.”
Oh, yes, he did.
    The word
childish
echoed in my ears. I’ll admit now that maybe bringing up pimples in this situation wasn’t the quickest path to getting the romance back on track. I’ll have to check with
Cosmo
on that one. But
childish?
Really?
    “I’m not ignoring a problem. The problem is solved. Jonas Furnis’s guys are caught; they’re gone. The pimple has resolved itself. Why am I going to keep thinking about it? I’m not going to keep buying Clearasil when it’s been gone for three months!” I knew I had to get off the pimple thing, but when an analogy works it’s hard to let go of it. And then I sat up to face him, hoping I’d seem more sane. “I just want to move on. I don’t want to fight the bad guys or be on the run. I just want to be here, doing what I’m doing. And be with you, of course.”
    He brushed my hair from my face. “I feel like I can’t leave. Like I should quit my job and be your bodyguard.”
    “Sounds good to me.” There was an opening where I thought I could get away with kissing him. But he just shook his head.
    “That’s the problem—I feel like I could do that. I could move up here and build some sort of a force field around you so that you could stay safe and become who you need to become. But I’ve already quit one job to be with you. I’m scared I’m going to do it again.” He put my hair behind my ear but stared at my shoulder. “You know how you’re always worried about being
that girl?
Well, I’m
that guy.
It’s insane.”
    “What if who I’m supposed to become is just your girlfriend?”
    “Don’t say that.”
    “Why?”
    “It terrifies me. That’s not who you are.”
    “How about I decide who I am?”
    “I’m sorry, I know. I just feel like we’re a little out of control.” When he finally looked at me, he said, “Do you ever feel like we’d both be a lot better off if we just put this whole thing on hold?”
    No. Never. Not even one time for one second.
“Sometimes.”
    “I mean, think of all the things you are going to miss by having me here or you being in New York.”
    None, no things. I have just calculated a list of exactly zero-point-zero things that I am going to miss.
“Sure, but we can figure it out, right? The balance. Like we talked about. When I’m here, I’ll be here; and when I’m with you . . .”
    I’ve had this dream a bunch of times where I’m driving a car and I’m trying to steer it straight, but it keeps turning into a tree or toward a cliff or something. I wake up feeling exactly like I felt in this moment. My voice was threatening to crack and my mind was racing, searching for the Rewind or at least the Pause button. We sat in the most gruesome silence. I stayed sitting, legs crossed to make a little barrier around me so that he wouldn’t be able to feel how fast my heart was beating.
    Finally, he sat up to face me, taking both of my hands in his. “There is no balance. When I am with you, I am completely off balance. It’s all about you and us, and I completely lose track of myself. I don’t know how I’m going to really start my career when my mind is so split. And you . . . this place is your dream come true, and you only get it for four years. To hear you saying maybe you just want to be my girlfriend . . . I can’t let that happen to you.” He wiped the tear that I’d been ignoring off of my cheek.
    What’s happening? Are you breaking up with me?
    “It’s not breaking up.” Even my internal monologue was turning on me.
    “An hour ago you loved me.”
    “And an hour from now I’ll