“Verbally. I need you to agree verbally.”
She draws in a deep breath like she’s steeling herself. “Fine. I agree to hang out with you while you write music in exchange for you giving me orgasms.”
Fuck, I like the sound of that. “Was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
“Number two,” I continue, ignoring her. “We don’t talk about sex club.”
“Unless it's in either of our biographies when we're over the age of...” She thinks for a few seconds. “Seventy.”
“Iz, this is important to me.”
“Because your life plan has your biography being published at sixty-five?” she asks with a smirk, and I love that she’s decided to shake off her embarrassment and roll with this.
“Because I’m famous, and people would pay a lot of money to hear this story. I make most of my…dates sign NDAs.”
Izzy snorts as she shovels the brussels sprout hash into her mouth. “Well, where is mine?”
I could ask my lawyers to draw one up. However, as much as I know Ishouldget her to sign something, it just doesn’t feel right.
“I trust you,” I say.
It might be the most accurate statement of my life. I have no doubt she won’t tell a soul.
She stares at me for a moment. “Because you know I’d be way too embarrassed for it ever to be worth it for me tell someone?”
I shrug. “In the same way it could cause an international scandal if I told anyone about it, yeah.”
“It’s not my fault I’m so famous,” Izzy jokes. “Oh, and Becca knows, but there is zero chance that she’ll tell anyone because she’s an excellent friend, and also I know a secret about her that could always be used as blackmail.”
“Okay,” I say, writing downassured mutual destruction.
Izzy shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a rule. It just…is.”
“Okay, well, what do you want to write on our sex contract? Because I’m in uncharted territories here.”
She pulls her long hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. “I’d like to keep the no-kissing rule.”
“What?” I ask, scanning her face for some kind of context clue. “I thought that was a terrible idea for fake dating, and I can assure you it’s a bad idea for sex coaching.”
“For the love! Could you please stop calling it that?” she huffs. “I agreed to your argument that, in public, we may need to kiss once if the situation called for it. But we don’t need to kiss during sex.”
“No,” I disagree, folding my arms across my chest.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? I’m just saying no kissing during sex. It’ll feel…too real.”
“Veto, Iz.”
“Isabel,” she cuts in, copying my body language now.
“Kissing is an important part of foreplay,” I argue. “Foreplay is an important part of getting you off. I have to be able to kiss you.” I stare at her lips as I say it, wondering how I’ve never noticed just how soft her lower lip looks. The urge to nibble on it is strong, and I have to force myself to look away.
“Fine. But no romantic kissing. No sweet kisses.”
“I will endeavor to only suck face,” I say, nodding seriously while writing,No romance.
“And finally,” Izzy continues, as I take a sip of the beer she opened for me, “no butt stuff.”
