Getting Lucky

If the sex was awful, she probably could. They’d laughingly accept that they’d given it the old college try and there was no harm done whether she was pregnant—experiment concluded successfully—or not—back to Plan A.

If it was awful...

But Romy knew it wouldn’t be awful.

The tightness of her skin told her that. Her racing heart, too. The way the smell of his pine-tree-scented soap made her want to lick him.

Those were the feelings lovers had, not friends.

Lovers.

Love.

Don’t call it love. Call it anything except love. Friendship, camaraderie, affection. A window of opportunity. A cheaper, faster, more efficient method of sperm insertion. Release valve. Direct deposit. Plan B. Sex, just sex.

If she kept all those descriptions in mind, surely she could do this. She could blur the line, she would blur the line, and she’d survive the end.

“All right, yes,” she breathed, both brave and terrified.

He pulled her in even more tightly. “Then I suggest we go upstairs immediately because it’s not your forehead I want to suck right now, and if we don’t move, I’m afraid I’ll drag you down to the floor and have my evil way with you right here.”

She huffed out a desperate laugh. “Evil is fine by me.”

He rubbed his cheek across the top of her head, and she felt him sigh even though she didn’t hear it. “Careful what you say, Romy.”

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