Page 127 of The Plus One Pact

I let him help me up.

He pulls me into a tight embrace and brings his lips to my ears. "I'm going to get you back for that."

"I'm counting on it."

He does.

The next morning, after another breakfast game—this time, Amara challenges the guys to use a certain mix of ingredients, like they're contestants on Iron Chef—and a long conversation with Cynthia on nothing in particular. (I let her lead, and she steers the conversation to her favorite parts of San Diego, a place we both found exciting and foreign as kids, even though it's only an hour away).

We break to give Amara time to set up our afternoon activity. And Romeo asks me to take a walk on the beach. He teases me the entire walk with long, slow kisses in semi-private spots. A cave in Pirate's Cove, the beach over the rocks, right off Newport Harbor. An abandoned lifeguard tower. An alley between two shops.

Finally, he sneaks me into the empty backyard, convinces me to dive into the pool in my underwear, and gets me off right there, in the water.

He uses the damn jets.

The man is an evil genius.

After I sneak upstairs, shower, and dress, I do it. I set up my equipment, I call Meredith, and I record an episode right there.

Our second episode about Romeo.

The tale of the strange weekend getaway.

The story of the skilled sex worker.

The secrets I'm technically allowed to spill.

And I spill every one of them.

Chapter Thirty

Romeo

Cynthia stands in the hallway, in one of her oversized linen suits, a puzzled look on her face. "What's happening?" She motions to the door to Ivy's room.

"Are you listening to my girlfriend masturbate?" I shake my head with faux disapproval. She's not the type to eavesdrop. And she's not a voyeur. Not as far as I know. "Naughty."

"No. Unless she has that condition where you laugh when you come." She moves a little closer to the door.

I follow.

Sure enough, Ivy is cracking up. It's not the rich, throaty laugh I know. It's a gut-busting, full-on set of the giggles.

Like she'll never stop laughing.

"She's probably talking about my sexual abilities," I tease.

Cynthia smiles. "Please, Rome. Your number was written in the girl’s bathroom in high school. ‘For an orgasm call Romeo.’”

One of my high school girlfriends did write that. It only stayed up for a few days. Then teachers discovered it, removed it, and called me into the office to discuss appropriate use of language. Though I’m not sure what I was supposed to do. It’s not like I wrote it. "That's only because other high school boys didn't know about cunnilingus.”

She nods true.

"Maybe it went to my head." I tap. "And she finds it hilarious."

"I'm sure…" She stares at the door with curiosity in her eyes.

It is curious. But I like it too much to care. Ivy laughing until she can't breathe. That's almost as good as Ivy coming until she can't breathe.