He leaned forward and cleared his throat. “You mean you picked me.”
Claire continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I only brought it up in hopes Mia and Noah would get their heads out of their asses and realize how badly they wanted each other. And it worked. They were married a few weeks later. In keeping up with the ruse, though, at the time I ended up with Graham as my backup.” She used air quotes as she said “backup,” because it hadn’t been real.
At least, not in her mind. Had Graham actually believed it all this time?
Graham crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “You say ‘ended up with,’ I say ‘will be blessed with.’”
“There’s no way you actually want to marry me.”
“I’d marry the hell out of you. Have you seen you?”
Claire snorted at the same time Reagan said, “Aww.”
Useless flattery would get him nowhere. “It’s not happening, Graham.”
He pursed his lips and frowned as he looked at her for a long moment. He seemed to be gauging how serious she was, then dropped his shoulders in surrender. “Fine.”
“Why do you even want to hold up the pact, anyway? You don’t want to get married.”
“This is different. We both know it’s just a convenience thing, no pressure for more. I’m not opposed to a guaranteed date for work functions, the tax benefits, splitting chores with someone. I hang the porch swings, you wash the cars. Seems like a win-win.”
Those things did sound nice, but that wasn’t all she wanted out of a marriage.
Before Claire could say as much, Reagan spoke again, her voice strangely thoughtful. “You know, it’s not such a bad idea.”
Claire shot her the side-eye. “What isn’t?”
“You and Graham. You’ve been friends for years. And you’re actually really similar, now that I think about it.”
Intrigue settled across Graham’s features as he sat back, apparently intent on spurring on the ridiculous conversation. “How so?”
“You’re both fun, of course,” Reagan said. “But more than that, you’re outgoing and opinionated. Hardworking and strong-willed. You both have jobs where you help people, but are also stressful and that have weird hours. I would actually think you’re pretty compatible. You’d understand each other, at the very least.”
“Opinionated, strong-willed, stressful job, and weird hours? You just listed all the things men end up leaving me for,” Claire muttered into her glass.
“The men you date are fools,” Graham said. “Those are my favorite things about you.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I mean, I don’t like that your job stresses you out, but I admire what you do.”
She smiled, feeling a little better. “Well. Thank you.”
“Now will you marry me?”
“Definitely no.”
“Why not?”
Reagan nudged her ribs. “He’s nice to look at.”
Graham preened.
They had a point. He was ridiculously attractive. Tall and muscular without being oversize. Thick, wavy dark hair that he kept just a smidge too long, a look that somehow came off dashing and playful. His kind, dark eyes were the type that spoke of trustworthiness but held a spark of endearing mischief. But most of all, it was his smile that made him stand out. When he smiled—really smiled—it was almost as if she could feel warmth blooming deep inside her. He was impossible to look away from in those moments, like trying to tear her gaze from a shooting star bursting across the sky.
But physical attraction was only one point of consideration when it came to husband potential. Among many others, another important element was the man’s interest and willingness to commit.
It was probably a cheap shot, but she didn’t see another way out of this. “Have you ever been in a serious relationship, Graham?”
He glanced at her and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “You know the answer to that.”
“You’re the one insisting we go down this road, and Reagan doesn’t know you like I do. Answer the question.”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’m not the marrying kind. Their words, not mine. But they’re not wrong, and I’ve always been on the same page so it doesn’t bother me.” His voice was light but the spark in his eyes dimmed a fraction. “But I don’t know, I thought you and I got along pretty well. Didn’t think you’d choose being completely alone over hanging out with me when we’re old.”
He looked away and directed his gaze to the street, and Claire was struck by a slow swirl of discomfort in her belly. She’d wanted to prove he wasn’t the marrying kind and had always assumed he was the one who bowed out of relationships when things got too serious. She hadn’t meant to imply he was inherently lacking—as a friend, roommate, or as someone’s future spouse.
Reagan kept silent, staring into her wineglass.
Shifting in the swing, Claire scrambled to find something to ease the sudden discomfort. Marriage was a big deal to her, and she couldn’t imagine going about it so casually.
But...
“Maybe we could have some other arrangement,” she blurted out, and immediately wanted to slap her hand over her mouth.
Graham’s head snapped around. “What?”
Shit. She knew better than to word-vomit into awkward silences, which never failed to land her in some kind of trouble.
She darted wide eyes in Reagan’s direction, but her roommate offered no help. Reagan simply looked back at her with big eyes and a raised eyebrow that said, Where are you going with this?
Valid question. Where was she going with this?
Obviously, the unfiltered version of herself had meant sex. And, strangely, her buttoned-up counterpart wasn’t completely appalled by the idea, either.
“Tell us,” Graham drawled, the glimpse of insecurity from seconds ago nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d imagined it. “What kind of arrangement, Claire?”
Claire scrunched her nose and rubbed the back of her neck. No need to be embarrassed. You’re a grown woman, and he’s an attractive man. “Well, I was just thinking...pact or not, you’re not the marrying type. And I could give several reasons why you’re not right for me. But I’d be open to discussing the benefits of, um...”
“Sex?” Graham supplied.
Reagan’s voice floated over Claire’s shoulder. “Should I leave?”
“No,” Graham said at once. “I think I need a witness for this.”
Reagan stayed put and Graham cocked a brow at Claire in expectation.
“Yes. Um, sex.” Claire wanted to keep her voice strong in the hopes of hiding her awkwardness, but it just came out loud and high-pitched. “If we’re forty and still single...I’d be okay with hooking up every once in a while. You know, to scratch the itch. By that point I doubt I’ll be as successful picking up men at the bar.”
“I would argue because you’ll still be smoking hot at forty, but I benefit from that assumption. So I won’t.”
“You’re up for it, then?” At Graham’s smirk, she pursed her lips, the familiar competitive discord between them putting her on more steady ground. “Pun not intended.”
Graham’s eyes were shining. “Sure. Why wait, though?” He set his bottle down, clapped once, and stood. “Reagan, if you’ll excuse us—”
“Sit down,” Claire ordered. “The terms of the pact still stand. Forty.”
He pouted and sat. “When I turn forty, or when you do?”
He was only four years away from the target age. But if she still hadn’t found the love of her life when she’d reached thirty-five...she’d probably be down for the occasional night with Graham. “You.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he just looked at her for a second. Reagan’s gaze burned into the back of her neck.
“Reagan, are you getting this?” He extended his right hand. “Is a handshake good, or should we put it in writing?”
Claire rolled her eyes and reached forward to grip his strong hand in hers. When she went to withdraw, he tightened his grip.
“Reagan! Photo evidence,” he shouted even though they were all right there, then added, “please.”