•There shall be no third party status. All consensual sexual relations are to take place between the above stated individuals, to consummate once lab results reveal both individuals are free from any sexually transmitted diseases.
I glance up amused. “You always draw up a legal document before entering into a hookup?”
He pushes out a dry smile, and something about that small action sends a quiver between my thighs, efficient as a vibrator.
“This isn’t a simple hookup.” He says it so cool, it’s believable. “Not in the traditional sense. And the lab work is just to put your mind at ease. I saw my doctor this morning. I’ve called campus health services for you, and their earliest opening for a screening is later this afternoon.”
Oh, wow. Me thinks the professor is randy. I give a gluttonous grin. “Consider me there.”
“Good. They’re expecting you. I’ve already put your name in.”
Holy wow, this guy is really on top of it. I’m guessing he’s anxious to get on top of something else. The only planning ahead Will ever did was to fill up his gas tank before making us late to the movies.
“So are you any good?” I’m half teasing but curious as to how far his ego is willing to go to defend his fornicating honor.
“Are you kidding?” His eyes dart to mine. His features melt serious and hard as flint. “I can make a career of this if need be.”
Thought so.
“Well, then! This is going to be fantastic.” I quickly scribble my name in all the appropriate slots before sliding it over to him. “When can we begin?”
Wyatt leans in with his elbows on the desk, his hands pressed together near his mouth as if he were sending up a prayer.
“One month.”
“Tonight.” I counter, stunned by his latent proposal.
“Three weeks.”
“Two and a half, and I might spend the night.”
“I promise you”—a slow grin spreads over his face, his eyes glow with an intense level of assuredness—“you will never want to leave.”
I watch his full lips move as he rounds out the words. Something tells me he’s right.
“You’re going to fall in love with me.” His dimples go off as he gives a cocky grin.
“I’m going to use you.”
“We’ll see.”
Wyatt scrawls his name over all the appropriate boxes and sets down the pen with a deafening clang.
The smile glides from his face. “Let the games begin.”
“They already have.”
Wyatt
“Classification of terms?” Blake scoffs as he flings the contract back my way.
“Don’t look so unimpressed. I wasn’t trying to woo her, I was trying to scare her—as in scare her off.” I glance over the page where Marley penned her signature just a few short days ago.
“You don’t say.” He looks mildly amused. “Did it work?”
“Oddly, no.” I tuck the lewd document back into my briefcase.
The Black Bear is filling up around us as the rest of Blake’s band puts together the equipment on stage.
A familiar dark-haired shadow treks over. Monica. I give a brief idea of a smile. Just great. I’ve sent a steady stream of polite yet dismissive text messages for the last few days—especially after missing dinner with her the other night. I’ve never forgotten about a dinner date in my life. I still feel pretty bad about that, although, in my defense, Marley is quite the distraction.
I lean toward my brother. “Why don’t you go up and help out the band?”
Blake rises. “You’ve got a birthday coming up. Anything on your wish list?”
A grimace comes and goes at the thought. Benji and I had our birthdays just a day apart. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason Blake remembers it. My birthday will now forever be a source of pain.
“No worries, buddy. It’s like in a month. I think we should forget about it.”
“It’s in two weeks. And I’m not forgetting.” He knocks on the table before heading for the stage.
“Looks like I came just in time.” Monica settles across from me with a tight-lipped smile, her glasses dripping to the tip of her nose. “So, who’s the lucky girl?”
“Lucky girl?” A slight wave of heat rides through me at the mention of a girl. I give a quick glance to the entrance. Marley mentioned Blake would be playing tonight. She knows I’ll be here. We spent the better half of the day locked in one sexual innuendo after another, not to mention a never-ending steam of banter that left my balls aching for some relief. I suppose in that sense there is a girl. “There is no girl.” And now I’ve lied to Monica for the very first time.