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He glanced at her and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “You know the answer to that.”
“You’re the one insisting we go down this road, and Reagan doesn’t know you like I do. Answer the question.”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not the marrying kind. Their words, not mine. But they’re not wrong, and I’ve always been on the same page so it doesn’t bother me.” His voice was light but the spark in his eyes dimmed a fraction. “But I don’t know, I thought you and I got along pretty well. Didn’t think you’d choose being completely alone over hanging out with me when we’re old.”
He looked away and directed his gaze to the street, and Claire was struck by a slow swirl of discomfort in her belly. She’d wanted to prove he wasn’t the marrying kind and had always assumedhewas the one who bowed out of relationships when things got too serious. She hadn’t meant to imply he was inherently lacking—as a friend, roommate, or as someone’s future spouse.
Reagan kept silent, staring into her wineglass.
Shifting in the swing, Claire scrambled to find something to ease the sudden discomfort. Marriage was a big deal to her, and she couldn’t imagine going about it so casually.
But...
“Maybe we could have some other arrangement,” she blurted out, and immediately wanted to slap her hand over her mouth.
Graham’s head snapped around. “What?”
Shit. She knew better than to word-vomit into awkward silences, which never failed to land her in some kind of trouble.
She darted wide eyes in Reagan’s direction, but her roommate offered no help. Reagan simply looked back at her with big eyes and a raised eyebrow that said,Where are you going with this?
Valid question. Wherewasshe going with this?
Obviously, the unfiltered version of herself had meant sex. And, strangely, her buttoned-up counterpart wasn’t completely appalled by the idea, either.
“Tell us,” Graham drawled, the glimpse of insecurity from seconds ago nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d imagined it. “What kind of arrangement, Claire?”
Claire scrunched her nose and rubbed the back of her neck.No need to be embarrassed. You’re a grown woman, and he’s an attractive man. “Well, I was just thinking...pact or not, you’re not the marrying type. And I could give several reasons why you’re not right for me. But I’d be open to discussing the benefits of, um...”
“Sex?” Graham supplied.
Reagan’s voice floated over Claire’s shoulder. “Should I leave?”
“No,” Graham said at once. “I think I need a witness for this.”
Reagan stayed put and Graham cocked a brow at Claire in expectation.
“Yes. Um, sex.” Claire wanted to keep her voice strong in the hopes of hiding her awkwardness, but it just came out loud and high-pitched. “If we’re forty and still single...I’d be okay with hooking up every once in a while. You know, to scratch the itch. By that point I doubt I’ll be as successful picking up men at the bar.”
“I would argue because you’ll still be smoking hot at forty, but I benefit from that assumption. So I won’t.”
“You’re up for it, then?” At Graham’s smirk, she pursed her lips, the familiar competitive discord between them putting her on more steady ground. “Pun not intended.”
Graham’s eyes were shining. “Sure. Why wait, though?” He set his bottle down, clapped once, and stood. “Reagan, if you’ll excuse us—”
“Sit down,” Claire ordered. “The terms of the pact still stand. Forty.”
He pouted and sat. “When I turn forty, or when you do?”
He was only four years away from the target age. But if she still hadn’t found the love of her life when she’d reached thirty-five...she’d probably be down for the occasional night with Graham. “You.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he just looked at her for a second. Reagan’s gaze burned into the back of her neck.
“Reagan, are you getting this?” He extended his right hand. “Is a handshake good, or should we put it in writing?”
