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…”