His foot slips between mine under the table and then links behind my ankle. Derek leans over the table toward me, and this time when his hand covers mine, there’s a possessive grip to it. “I’m trying to be a good person. At least let me pretend.” I know all about pretending to be a good person. I know all about the lies I have to tell myself to do it. So I tell one more. “Friends,” I agree. “Nothing more.”
