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Eight: If the rules stop working, we say so. We don’t give the cold shoulder and hope the other person figures it out.

He underlines minimum once and sets the pen down exactly where he picked it up from.

“That about covers it,” he says.

I’m not sure it does. But I know why he added each of his rules. I read them twice. My chest does the hurting thing again.

“Those are acceptable,” I say.

“High praise.”

“They are necessary for our situation.”

“Sure.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, more on my cheek than anything else, and I almost turn my face to capture his lips. “Food. Then you can initiate number three again if you want. I'm very rule-compliant this evening.”

I attempt to fight my smile, but I lose, and I can feel my cheeks rise, which makes his smile even brighter as he pulls back.

“Or we could order in,” he suggests.

That’s tempting. But I think I need some cool air to shock my system, because I’ve just agreed to—and made rules for—the one thing I could never understand people wanting before. I do want it. Maybe not for the same reasons as most people and it might blow up in my face, but that’s the thing with experiments. Sometimes they don’t work out.

“We should go out.”

“Out it is.”

THIRTY-NINE

DANIEL

Los Amigos smells like lime and fried tortillas and the same salsa they’ve been putting on the tables since the first time we came. Quinn likes routine and I’ve noticed. Not that I make that obvious when I suggest tacos. It’s worth it when his shoulders drop half and inch as he relaxes. It’s as close as he’s going to get to saying, yes, please, take me somewhere my brain already knows.

We get our usual booth by the wall. Quinn orders the same thing he always does, and I go for the fajitas, because they are almost as good as the torta.

Friends with benefits.

Although, I read the list. It’s everything dating would be without the label, minus the keeping it on the down low. It’s exclusive. Touching whenever we want if we are in the room. Communication. Cuddles. That’s basically dating with the serial numbers filed off so he can continue lying to himself. And I’m all in. I’m going to make FWB the best start of a relationship anyone’s ever accidentally built, and I’m going to do it without saying the D word until he writes it down himself.

He lines his napkin up with the edge of the table. I watch his hands and think about how he sunk his fingers into my hair while I sucked on him like a lollipop.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“Is that a rule, too?” I whisper, leaning across the table toward him.

“It should be.”

“Friends look at each other, brain.”

“Not like they are going to eat them.”

I lick the corner of my mouth and laugh. “Can’t deny that. Give me one taste and I’m addicted.”

He squirms in his seat. I bite my lip and smolder at him. It’s one Flynn Rider would be proud of, I’m sure. It helps that he’s the only one that can see my face back here, the table next to us is empty, and he’s facing the room.

“You can’t give me that look either.”

“So many rules…what if I break one?”

“Then we adjust them and make them clearer.”