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“Hey, don’t let my cynicism rub off on you. You deserve to have all your sexual fantasies fulfilled.”

“You don’t think…” I chew on the inside of my cheek as I peek through the slit in the blinds, watching Roman’s house for any movements. “You don’t think it would be stupid to have a little fun…knowing it’ll never lead anywhere?”

“If you’re asking me if I think you should take advantage of Lord Munch’s God-given talents, then consider this me giving you my blessing.”

“Really?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Greer has always been on the sidelines cheering me on, especially when it comes to things she thinks she’s blown her chance of ever having.

I take a gulp of my wine, using the back of my hand to wipe the tart, cool liquid from my lips.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

I consider her question as I play out every possible way this could end badly. But I can’t tell her that it’s how it could affect her that I’m really worried about. If the word got out, it could ruin my chances of getting any kind of fair divorce settlement, which would make it much harder to help Greer and the kids.

My voice is barely a whisper when I finally admit the other worry, bouncing around in my head. “Once I finish the anger management program, I’m leaving…”

“That’s six weeks away… Six weeks where you could be getting your shit rocked each night,” she supplies.

“Yeah. That’s true…” I bite my quivering lip as my eyes sting with the threat of tears. “It’s just…What if one of us ends up catching feelings? I’m not ready to get involved with someone right now. Especially someone with that much money and power. I’m already learning that lesson the hard way, and the last thing I need is to be controlled by another man.”

“So don’t let it get that far,” she says, as if the solution couldn’t be more obvious. “Look, you want my advice? You’re young and hot, and you have your whole career ahead of you. This is just a blip in the road. Just be smart and keep your heart out of it. You deserve to have a little fun for once.”

A stray tear rolls down my cheek as her well-meaning advice slices through me, the ache of feeling so misunderstood tangling with the relief of her approval. It’s not her fault she thinks I love my life. I’ve never given her a reason to doubt my devotion to my work. But sometimes I wish she could see through my act. That someone would take the time to look a little deeper and see the real me beneath it. The girl who’s spent her whole life begging to be seen.

Maybe that’s what I find so captivating about Roman. He doesn’t treat me the way other people treat me. He may play along in the moment, but he isn’t as easily fooled as I thought he was.

All this time he knew. He knew it was me that night, and he let me waltz around here, practically throw myself at him every chance I got, and he didn’t even bat an eye in my direction. He must really think I’m desperate… or worse…

I shake the thought from my head and down the rest of my wine as I wipe the trail of tears with the back of my hand. “You’re right. I deserve to have a little fun.”

“That’s the spirit!” Greer cheers, then drops her voice. “Oh shit, the Quincys just walked in. I’ve gotta run before they notice—” She stops short. “I was just heading back to my room, actually…” she says, her tone turning suspiciously innocent.

We say our goodbyes, Greer promising to bring the kids over tomorrow afternoon to swim and celebrate the Fourth of July together.

It sounds like it’s exactly what I need.

Needing a little more liquid courage, I pour myself another glass of wine as I pull out a notebook and a pen.

Seems like the solution to my problem can be solved with a few more ground rules.

List in hand, I march across the lawn like a woman on a mission. It’s only when I reach the back door that I realize what I’m wearing. I didn’t exactly think this plan all the way through.

My knuckles hover over the door, but before I can knock, the door swings open and a smiling Roman greets me. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and his hair’s wet like he’s just got out of the shower.

“Hey, neighbor. You need to borrow a cup of sugar or⁠—”

Irritation and sexual frustration propel me forward. I slap the list against his chest and shoulder my way inside. The back door opens up to a breakfast nook.

He lifts the paper and quickly scans it. “What’s this? Oh…” His eyes widen as he reads my chicken-scratch of amendments where I’ve added:

—No strings attached!

—This purely sexual agreement is only valid through the end of the Phantom Festival.

—This arrangement must remain a secret!

When he looks back up at me, his eyes are darker. He leans against the countertop and crosses his arms over his chest. “These are your terms then?”

I nod, tilting my chin up to hold his intense gaze. “Yes. Those are my terms.”