The Roommate Pact(5)
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.”
Phone in hand, Reagan stood, put her glass on the porch railing, and positioned herself to aim the camera at Graham and Claire’s clasped hands.
“I’ll take a few,” she said, looking at the screen and dropping her arm when she’d taken satisfactory shots. “Wow. I can’t wait to see how this turns out.”
Claire released Graham’s hand. “Don’t be so sure it will. I could meet my future husband tomorrow, which would void the agreement.”
“Or you’ll never meet him,” Graham said. “Maybe we’ll grow old together. Come to think of it, this is way better than the original idea. Fuck buddies for life.”
Claire groaned. “Oh, no.” What had she done? “Can I take it back?”
Graham and Reagan spoke simultaneously.
“Nope.”
2
Graham Scott made a point of risking his life at least once a month.
Nothing completely overboard. He wasn’t out BASE jumping or highlining every weekend. Rock climbing, mountain biking, and skiing were more his style—he was always up for the toughest routes and rarely let extreme weather keep him down.
He’d started chasing the thrill of adventure the summer after eighth grade and never stopped. That rush of adrenaline never got old, and the few times he’d taken things too far and injured himself did nothing to cool his ardor. If anything, it made him want to up the ante even more.
His love for action wasn’t the reason he became a firefighter, but it sure as hell kept him interested. Before the prospect had come to mind he’d been worried he’d never find a career he’d truly enjoy short of becoming a climbing or white water rafting guide for some mountain adventure company. And dealing with amateur tourists would have gotten old pretty damn quick.
He loved nothing more than pushing his body and doing things only an elite few ever would. Even if Eldorado Canyon was often full of other climbers—like today—they still made up a small percent of the population. This was Colorado and housed arguably one of the most active populations in the United States.