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Yes. He bothers me.

Marcus Delaney bothers me more than any other human on the planet.

“Of course it doesn't bother me,” I say. “I barely notice when you touch me.”

“Good. Because if you were my girlfriend, I'd be touching you. And I will be—when needed, as you say, to advance the plot.”

“Right. Okay. You can touch me. But only when needed—when we have to make a show of it. But when we’re alone or no one’s looking, no touching.”

“Fair.”

“And no calling me Carter,” I add.

“No calling you Carter?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh? What's wrong with me calling you Carter, Carter?”

“Marcus, do you want me to agree to this or not?”

“Fine, I won’t call you Carter.”

Cahhhtuhh. Ugh.

“Good.”

“And you don't get to run your hand through my hair,” he says. “Especially not the fingernails on my scalp.”

“Oh?” I smile. “Does it bother you when I run my fingernails over your scalp?”

“It’s not necessary.”

“True.”

“So none of that.”

“Got it.”

“Good. Also, no calling me Cold Turkey.”

“What’s the deal with that, anyway?”

“Inside joke,” he says, as if that’s an explanation.

“I want to know.”

“Mm hmm.” He ignores my curiosity. “And Kate’s in charge of the timeline. She’s calling the shots on how long she thinks this charade is needed.”

“We get no say?” I ask.

“If you need to back out, talk to her.”

“That sounds good,” I agree.

I like Kate. She’s reasonable and she has been very supportive of Porch Light.

“Okay,” Marcus says with a tone of resolve. “So, it’s official.”