"That's not important," he said.

"Then why haven't you mentioned her?" I tried to keep the bitterness from creeping into my voice. "If it's not important, why wouldn't she come up in conversation? Seems like a weird thing to leave out, since we've been talking every day -- sometimes for hours." I knew I was making a fool of myself, but I couldn't stop. "What's her name? Where did you meet her? Well, you're free to see whomever you want," I said.

"I like you. A lot. But you have a boyfriend, and we've been hanging out for weeks now. As far as I know, you haven't told him you've been spending time with me. I don't really get that." I felt tears well up behind my eyes. I turned my head away from him. The last thing I wanted was for him to see my cry. "What the fuck am I supposed to do?" he continued. "I don't know what I am to you."

"I don't, either," I blurted out. "I don't know what we are to each other. But whatever it is, I know I don't want to lose it."

"I don't, either," he said after a while. "I don't know what this is, but I like it."

"Me too."