The Roommate Pact(4)

Claire dragged her eyes from Graham’s face—which harbored a mixture of surprise and his signature playfulness—and cast Reagan an impatient glance. “Last year we were out with friends and I proposed we act as each other’s backups and all marry each other if we were still single at forty. I got stuck with Graham.”

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.