The Love Coupon (Stubborn Hearts 2)

He tugged on the curl. He was desperately earnest, meeting her eyes, laying it out. It was difficult to be annoyed with him.

“Flick, being with you is the best thing that’s happened to me personally for a while. But you’re leaving and we’re only hooking up because we’re here together. It’s not like we sought each other out.”

Also true. She’d known Tom from afar for a few years, but never considered him hookup material. They mostly avoided each other in public. Smack upside her own head for being so short-sighted. All that rigid, well-behaved, polite corporate professional roughed up something beautiful.

“And there’s a consequence for me,” he said.

The saddest part of this discussion was she understood. “The last thing I want is to get in your way.” That wasn’t something she’d ever intended. It would’ve been fantastic to keep the sex with the roommate, but it wasn’t meant to be. There was a moment where she might’ve argued for that, why shouldn’t they enjoy each other while they had the chance, but the relief that flooded Tom’s face was game over.

“I hope we can be friends,” he said.

There was such a cringe in his voice that she laughed, and he did too. She presented her knuckles, and because they were slicked up against each other’s bodies and smelling of sex and this was the oddest breakup, he didn’t immediately react.

“Friend zone forever.”

Recognition dawned. He touched his knuckles to hers. “Friend zone forever.”

Her shin was still tucked into his flank. His hand went back to her hip. This would’ve been easier to do if they didn’t like each other. If they weren’t comfortably naked.

She went with trying to keep it light. “We could get matching tattoos.”

He gave her his arch you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “I’d settle for no trip hazards in the hall or frog-stomping on the table to headbanger music.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, at least let me make you a new playlist that’s not ancient.”

“If you never bring that tragic boxed mac and cheese home again.”

“If that means I get to eat your comfort food, I can live with that.”

“And they say the art of negotiation is dead.”

Negotiation, compromise, respecting people you cared about. Those were attributes that made the world go around. It was a shame they meant that from here on in she’d be sleeping in her own borrowed bed.

Chapter Eleven

It wasn’t weird with Flick and goddamn, Tom expected it to be. Whatever the etiquette for the transition between roommate-only, hookup-while-roommate, and roommate-only again eluded him. Flick took his endgame like a champion. It only made him admire her more.

He put a plate of blueberry waffles in front of her and she mimed dying of delight. “I will easily give up orgasms for waffles for breakfast.”

They were I’m-sorry waffles. “You’re not getting these every morning.”

“Oh come on. I used to get sex when I could tempt you. I should at least be entitled to a cooked breakfast when I can’t.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

She held her hand out. “Hello, Tom. Have you met me?”

He took her hand and shook it. “Eat your waffles.”

Of course she took it well. He turned back to the sink. It wasn’t like the sex meant anything to either of them, other than a good time.

It was best not to think about how good a time.

To remember Flick flinging her clothes at him in the hallway, dancing on the table in that satin slip, riding his hips, her skin glossy with sweat, on her knees, eyes open and pinned on his, deep-throating him.

“Arhhgg. Tom, these are amazing.”

Probably wouldn’t be right to ask her to stop making noises like that. A flashback to any of those sounds, the memories could make him hard again in seconds. He smiled as he ran the pan he’d used to cook the bacon under water. Yeah, he’d met her. She was made of bees and Gravitron and she was amazing.