I laugh. “Yeah, go figure.” I make a keep rolling motion with my hand. “Do go on.”
She gestures to the laptop. “I’d like your help.”
“Be more specific. Pretend I’m a totally clueless guy and you need to spell it out for me,” I say, trying my best to stay cool.
“Just as you propositioned me and asked me to be your fiancée for a week, I’d like to proposition you and ask you if you’d return the favor for the next week, in a slightly different way. The way where you finish what we started last night.”
That was where I thought we were heading, but now that she’s said it, I’m completely unprepared for the reaction in my body. I am electrified. The key has been turned in the ignition, and I race down the road of possibility of reenacting my fantasies from last night.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, and I hope to God she doesn’t know what I’m thinking, which is about how she looks naked coming on my cock. “You’re worried about us staying friends. That’s why I said I wanted to prove something to you. We can stay friends. It won’t be weird.”
Oh. Sure. Yeah. I wouldn’t say I was thinking that just now, but I’ve thought it before, so let’s go with it.
“Yes, that was on my mind,” I say, fibbing mildly.
“But we’ve made out like, what, three times already, and it hasn’t changed our friendship. Right?” she says, sounding so casual and so damn convincing, but I’m pretty sure she had me at farm fresh, the words she uttered when she walked in the door tonight.
“Right,” I say in a strong, assertive tone, like I’m banging a judge’s gavel because I’m so damn certain we should screw. Now. Then many more times tonight.
“So what would you think about us kicking things up a notch during the next week?” she says, then kicks me gently.
I think that’s a genius idea, and I’m ready to pounce on her and strip her naked. To fulfill all those fantasies I had last night, and all the ones she has. To give her an epic fucking orgasm or twenty to make up for months of none but the solo variety. But deals are always done best when both parties know what to expect from the get-go.
“We just need a few ground rules,” I say.
“Yes. Ground rules. Like no anal, right?”
“Um. That wasn’t really on my list, but I can live with that restriction,” I say with a laugh.
“Good,” she says, nodding, then she scrunches up her brow. “Why? What were you thinking for ground rules?”
“More like how long this will last.”
“One week. Until we break up.”
Clearly she’s given this some thought. “Got it. Makes sense.”
“Then we go back to being friends. Promise?”
“Absolutely,” I say, offering a pinky even though, let’s be honest, I don’t do pinky swears, being a guy and all. Still, it seems the right time to start, so she twists her pinky around mine.
“That’s vital,” she says emphatically as we link fingers then let go. “We just slide right back into the friend zone at the end of the week.”
“No sleepovers, either,” I add. “Because that just makes shit weird.”
“Agreed. And no weirdness. That’s another one.”
I nod vehemently and slice a hand through the air. “I hate weirdness. We can’t have any weirdness at all.”
“Also, no lying.”
“Definitely on board with that.”
She counts off on her fingers. “Okay. So we’ve got no anal, no sleepovers, no weirdness, no lying. We do this for a week, and we return to being friends.”
“Anything else?”
She shoots me a look like I’m crazy. “Well, duh. There’s one more thing.”
“Hit me. What is it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously, no falling in love,” she says with utter disdain for the concept.
I can’t help but scoff, too. “Of course. Like that would ever happen.”
“It would so never happen.”
“There’s no way. Absolutely no way.” We both nod once again, completely in agreement on this topic. Then she reaches for the bottom of her tank top like she’s about to strip.
I hold up a hand. “Whoa.”
“You’re not ready?”
“First, I was born ready. Second, I’m pretty much always ready to go at a moment’s notice,” I say, my eyes drifting to my crotch so she gets my meaning. “And I have been incredibly ready for the last forty-eight hours.” That makes her grin. “But let’s, you know, turn on some music and yada, yada, yada.”
She smacks her forehead. “Right. Mood. Let’s get in the mood.”
“Already in the mood. But call it that if you want.”
She stands and holds up a finger. “I’m just going to pee first,” she says, and she scurries down the hall. She heads in the direction of the bathroom attached to my bedroom rather than the one off the kitchen. I shrug. Whatever.
I click on my streaming music app, cue up some sexy, sultry numbers that remind me of the bar last night, take my wallet out of my pocket, and grab a condom from it. I toss the condom on the table, and it slips out of my fingers easily.
It’s then that I realize my palms are sweating.
Holy shit.
I’m nervous.
I’m fucking nervous, and that is not acceptable. I do not get nervous before sex. I am a rock star in the sheets. I am all confidence, all skill, and all focused on the woman. Charlotte is not getting anything less than my A game. Hell, she’s getting nothing less than an A-plus game. I take a deep breath, letting it fill my chest. I straighten my shoulders and remind myself that this is what I excel at. This is my master class. I’m going to give Charlotte the most mind-blowing pleasure she has ever experienced in her life.