International Player(36)

He chuckled and grabbed the bottle, topping himself up. “I’m cutting you off until you tell me what this is all about,” he said.

“I just told you. I need to get laid, and you, with all your tequila kisses and unzipping dresses and that thing you do with my neck—you’re the man for the job.”

“The job?” he asked, his eyebrows retreating into his hairline. “The job of getting you laid?”

Oh my God, it sounded like a disaster when he said it like that. “Not that it’s a job. Just that you’re single—” I paused. “Are you single?”

“Yes, Truly, I’m single. Remember the tequila kisses? They wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t.”

I nodded. Good. So, he was single. That was a start. “And I’m single. Hence, me tequila kissing you back. So, we should just have some casual sex.” There, I’d said it. Put it on a platter for him and stuck an apple in its mouth.

I stared at my wine, waiting for a response.

“Truly,” he said, his voice gravelly and so delicious that if I could eat it, I’d lick it so slowly it would last an entire year.

I peeked at him, shifting my head as little as possible.

“Is that why I’m here? Your proposition is . . . casual sex?”

Oh God, did he have to say it out loud like that? “But we can’t tell Abigail and Rob. Way too messy. That is a hard rule.” I eyed the paper and pen, ready to get down to business if he said yes.

He chuckled again, and I winced.

“You’re laughing at me?”

He paused. “No, not at you—I . . . This is unexpected.”

I blew out a breath. “Unexpected.” This was a terrible idea. I sat forward, leaning my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. Even though I’d been casual about people I’d had sex with, I’d never done casual sex. But with Noah? I just wanted him out of my system. I’d been kidding myself pretending my crush wasn’t back with a vengeance. I was so aware of him whenever he was around, so ready to sink into his smallest touch. I wanted to reframe what I felt and move on to a different stage. Travel from love to convenient sex.

“But not unwelcome,” he said. “I just don’t think I’ve ever had a woman call me over to her flat to suggest . . . whatever you’re suggesting.”

He slid his hand over my back, and my body and mind began to dissolve. That was exactly what I was talking about. I wanted to thicken my skin. Realize it was no big deal when he touched me.

“We won’t tell Abigail or Rob,” he said. “What else?”

I turned my head to find him staring straight at me. Was he saying yes?

“What else, Truly? I can tell you’ve thought about this.”

“I thought we could write it down so nothing gets forgotten or misinterpreted,” I mumbled in a small voice.

He tried his hardest to stifle the grin that burst from his face. “Hence the stationery.”

I shrugged.

He cleared his throat and picked up a pad of Post-its, frowned and then tossed them back on the table. Maybe the Post-its had been a step too far.

Over on my side table, he grabbed my beaten-up copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, folded his paper in half, and pulled the cap off his pen. “I won’t mark it,” he said.

“I know.” He knew how much I loved that book. I had a couple of hard-backed versions, too, but the book he had was the one I read to preserve the others.

“So,” he said, nodding toward the stack of paper. “Are you going to make your list?”

I rolled my eyes as if it had been his idea all along and I was just going along with it. “If you insist.”

“We’re writing down rules,” he said, as if to confirm we were on the same page.

“And what we don’t want to happen.”

He fixed me with a stare. “And what we do.”

I began my list, and tried to ignore him, tried to forget that Noah was sitting on my sofa, inches away from me. That we were talking about having sex. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to erase the images of my sister yelling at me, telling me I was an idiot.

Noah was right. I had thought about this list. I figured six rules were appropriate. And then if he added six, twelve would be an acceptable number.

“So,” I said, shifting back into the cushions and bringing my feet up so I could rest my papers against my legs. “Who’s going first?”

“Well, given this is your idea, I think it should be you.”

I’d been hoping he’d say that. “Okay,” I said, putting a black circle around the number one. “The first one is no telling anyone—especially not Rob and Abigail.”

I looked up at him from under my lashes, and he nodded. “The second one is condoms at all times.”

“At all times?”

“Like, when we’re doing it. Not, you know, when we’re not.”

He chuckled. “Okay, good. Number three?”

“I don’t want to hear about any other women you’re dating.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, no monogamy on either side?”

“I don’t expect that, no. And I won’t tell you about my dates, either.”

“I thought the whole point of this was that Jesus God and a banana you needed some sex? If you’re fucking other people—”