But it’s better now. I’ve made sure of that.
“They loved each other,” she says, then glances down at her hand clutching the blanket between her breasts. She knows the rest of the story.
“Sure, they’d kiss and make up, and the next thing you know they’re having makeup sex in the backyard the day I bring my friends home for spring break.”
Sarah shudders. “I’m still traumatized.”
“See?”
She’s back to staring at me like I’m wacko, so maybe she doesn’t remember. Maybe she’s forgotten what it felt like to be in close proximity to such a volatile marriage. To have that held up as a symbol of how marriages are “passionate” and “all-consuming,” and that it’s all about “forgiveness” and “fighting for each other” or some bullshit like that.
“They might have been a little dysfunctional,” Sarah says slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around her breasts. “But they loved each other. And you.”
“My point exactly,” I say. “Love-based marriages are dangerous. Messy. Destructive.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s sort of my point,” I say. “Neither of us grew up with a shining example of traditional marriage being all that hot. Isn’t that a reason to consider something different? Something more tailored to us.”
I pull her back down with me, stroking a hand over the soft contours of her arm. She stiffens for a second, then relaxes into me. Her hair is soft against my chest, and she rests a hand on my bare hip like it belongs there. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world for us to be lying naked together on her couch.
“Why now?” she asks, and it’s the first indication that she’s hearing me. That she doesn’t think this is some elaborate prank. “Why all of a sudden?”
“Turning thirty this week, I guess,” I admit. “We’re both getting to that age. And visiting Ryan—have you seen his new baby?”
She smiles at that. “He posted a few shots on Instagram. A girl, right?”
I nod. “Rose. She’s adorable. You always wanted a family, right?”
She bites her lip and nods. “Yes.” A self-conscious laugh slips out. “God. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
She sounds more amused than dismayed. I plant a kiss along her temple, reminding myself this is a business proposition. The fact that it feels fucking amazing is beside the point. This is about companionship. It’s about friendship with permanent perks. It’s about?—
“Shane,” she says softly. “This is about Shane.”
I close my eyes for a second, not wanting this conversation derailed by grief. By memories of my dead brother or how it all happened. That’s not the conversation I want to have.
When I open my eyes again, Sarah’s still studying me. “I just think marriage makes more sense when it’s based on logic and basic compatibility,” I tell her. “We like each other, right?”
She quirks one eyebrow. “Your dick is resting on my thigh. I’d say we more than like each other.”
“And that’s my next point—we have great sex.”
A bright flush spreads from her chest all the way to her cheeks, staining them the color of a pink pearl eraser. I stroke the side of her cheek, needing to touch all that heat.
“I can’t argue with that,” she says. “But it could have been beginner’s luck.”
“This was not beginner’s luck.”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, then closes it. We both know this wasn’t beginner’s luck. I don’t know what the hell it was, but it wasn’t luck.
“We’ve always had good chemistry,” she admits. “I guess I never imagined it like this, but?—”
She trails off there, gliding a hand over my rib cage. I consider telling her I did imagine it. Not recently, but back when I had feelings. Back when I was young and dumb and still willing to entertain the idea of happily ever after.
I know better now.
That doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the same simmer of lust I’ve always had for Sarah. If it was a slow simmer at eighteen, it’s a hot boil now. Just because I can’t feel love doesn’t mean I don’t feel other things.
