Five
Heath
The sun glares through the glass walls of the eleventh-floor gym, making it hard to focus on my workout. As I run on my machine, the golden-hour glow makes me want to sleep. My desire to sleep brings thoughts of being in bed. Thoughts of being in bed remind me of sex. At this point, what doesn’t?
It has been too long. Four months since the accidental roommate altercation, and karma is taking its sweet time. But, if I’m being painfully honest, I haven’t had great sex since last summer.
It was crazy. Teagan and I were complaining about the heat, bartering over a fan and a bucket of ice, then a few minutes later we were in my room, fucking on the cold bathroom floor, in the shower, and on the windowsill while catching the 2:00 a.m. breeze. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing that left me so fucked up I thought for sure we’d do it again. And then she ghosted me. Hard. Now I’m still thinking about it— obsessing over it—praying she gives me another chance to see her staring up at me with that look , hear her moan my name, and feel her nails dragging down my back while I—
“Heath!”
Surprise makes me trip and almost fall off the machine. I catch myself and stand on the sides, glaring at Ritchie. He leans over the arm of the treadmill beside me and smiles like an asshole. “What the hell, Rich?”
“What? I called your name like four times. Where is your head at?”
With a roll of my eyes, I hop back onto the belt. I lower the speed and grumble, “What do you want?”
“I was trying to ask you about the party last weekend.”
Ritchie’s tone always sounds like he’s plotting something. I swear, every part of him screams punch me . -six max, he has a baby face that makes him look sixteen and a haircut that looks like it was done by a sous chef. Yet, somehow, he’s getting laid more than me.
My breath picks up when I increase my speed back to what it was. “What do you mean?”
“Did you score with that girl you brought?”
“No.”
“Damn, man. How long has it been?”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”
“Yikes,” Brett says when he magically appears in frame. “What crawled up your ass and didn’t sleep with you?” His tongue hangs out when he laughs and slaps his palm against Ritchie’s.
“Man, fuck both of you.” I turn off my machine and head for the showers.
Ritchie follows me. “Chill, bro. We’re only teasing.”
I use my work perks to get them access to this bougie-ass fitness club, then they want to make fun of me? Nah. Fuck that.
“Heath, you know we’re just messing with you. You’re pent up,” Brett says, hanging an arm over my shoulders. “You should fly out to Valencia with us this weekend and see the new boat before the wedding. Let off some steam.”
“The boat” is his dad’s new two-hundred-foot yacht docked somewhere in the Mediterranean. It would be a tempting offer if I wasn’t tired of his shit right now. “We’ll be there at the end of the summer. I’ll see it then.”
“Yeah, but all of Felicity’s bridesmaids are coming with us too.” He shakes my shoulders as if his drift wasn’t easy to catch. “You had fun last time you were around them.”
I was having fun with Teagan . They didn’t know which bridesmaid I was talking about.
The spa makes the locker room smell like eucalyptus and chlorine. I can’t wait to shower so they’ll quit talking to me. “Both of you need to stop,” I say. “I’m not doing as bad as you think. I fucked it up with my date, but I didn’t go home alone.”
“What?” Ritchie leans into my view and looks at me with a very punchable smirk. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing happened.” I unzip my pocket to find my key and to keep him from seeing my smile. “At least nothing yet.”
“There’s my Heath! You can come out this weekend with us, get laid, then come back and seal the deal with that girl right after,” Ritchie says.
I swear they live vicariously through me, encouraging me to be more of a dog than I already am just to make up for the monotony of their monogamy. “Seriously, I’m good.”
“Your loss, man. Let’s go for a soak,” Brett says.
The hot tubs just behind the doors call my name, but I don’t want to be around the two of them any longer. “You go on, I need to get home.”
“Suit yourself.” Brett smacks a hand against my ass as they walk away.
When they’re finally gone, I exhale a sigh of relief.
I rip off my shirt and toss it into my locker. Under my towel, my phone’s screen lights up with a missed notification. When I see who it is, my day gets a lot better.
Teagan: Are you free tomorrow?
~
My knee bounces nervously under the table while I wait for Teagan to show up. She asked to meet at this café but never replied to say why. I stare at her text message again, hoping it will give me more information.
Maybe she’s decided she’s down to hook up for the summer, but there’s no way to know for sure. All I do know is that she never texts me, especially not out of the blue. The last text I got from her was over a year ago when we were planning Brett’s bachelor party. She suggested we go to a strip club she wanted to go to, which we did, and it was wild. We had fun but not nearly as much as her. She took all of our cash and made it rain on a stripper with the fattest ass I’ve ever seen, then took her back to her hotel room that night.
That’s Teagan. You never know which side of her you’ll get—neurotic or chaotic. She’s got a few screws loose, but goddamn, that pussy is tight .
Her big ponytail catches my attention over the back of the booth. “Teags!”
She looks my way and heads over. Her perfect body is wrapped in a pair of tight yoga pants and a school hoodie. Maybe I’m getting chaotic Teags today. I can only hope.
Sliding into the booth next to me, she doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t smile. She’s in business mode, avoiding eye contact like a parent who’s about to give you The Talk.
“I got here earlier than you.” I break the silence. “That’s a first.”
“I told you to meet me half an hour earlier so you’d actually be on time.”
“. . . oh.”
A waitress walks over and cuts the awkwardness. “Can I get you something?” she asks Teagan.
“A latte with almond milk, please.” She loves those things.
“Nothing for me,” I say. The waitress nods and walks away. I turn back to Teagan, who still won’t look at me. “Do you want to tell me why we’re here?”
Finally, her big eyes find mine. “I thought about what you said.”
“And?”
“There might be a way to make it work.” Fuck, yeah! This is exactly the news I wanted. I lean on my elbows and smile at the possibilities.
She pulls out her tablet, keyboard attached and all. “I wrote something up.”
“You wrote something?”
“Yes. Two parties doing business should be in agreement on the terms.”
“Doing business?” I slide my hands over my face. “Wow, Teags. Can’t wait.”
“Just read it.”
I take the tablet from her and ready myself for a whole lot of bullshit. What I see is less legalese than I expected. In fact, it almost makes sense.
Proposed Guidelines of the Hargrove-Reynolds Situationship:
This contract is to outline an agreement for scheduled sex. The Situationship is limited to June 1 through August 31.
Sex is defined as acts including but not limited to all forms of consensual physical contact with the intent of achieving orgasm or equitable satisfaction. Sex is always to be an equal exchange. An unequal exchange will provide grounds for the termination of this agreement. Sex is to be exclusively between the two parties through the duration of the contract except as defined in the terms below.
Both parties shall treat and keep the Situationship secret and confidential, and will not directly or indirectly communicate or disclose the existence of, or terms of, this agreement to any outside party.
Cessation of this agreement is allowed for any reason with proper notice by either party.
The terms are as follows;
1. Schedule is to be preapproved. Both parties must approve all changes.
2. No shared meals or public excursions generally defined as dates; any public appearances and events will be worked into the preapproved schedule, with notice.
3. Dramatic or emotionally based decisions are to be kept separate from the schedule and terms within the contract.
4. A sexual relationship with an outside party can be accommodated through the pausing or cessation of this agreement with proper notice by either party. Reinstatement of the agreement will require a negative STI test.
I lean back in the booth and nod. That ain’t half bad.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“I like it.”
“Great. We’ll need to agree on a schedule.”
She pulls out her phone and opens her Calendar app. Awkwardly, I do the same. She shows me her typical week and we compare it to mine. Her classes and work schedule almost align with my shifts.
“It looks like we have Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays,” she summarizes.
“Sundays would be good for me too,” I say. “A little stress relief before Monday?”
“I have family dinner that day. You know that.”
I do know that, but I don’t know why she thinks she can’t do both. “Even if we are free at the same time, we can’t have sex because it’s not on the schedule?”
“Spontaneity crosses into relationship territory. It’s dick by appointment only, or I’m out.”
“Okay. Damn.”
She considers for a moment, then says, “We can add a twelve-hour notice for extra available times. Does that work?”
I take that as a win. “Yeah, that works.”
She unfolds the tablet’s cover to expose the keyboard. As she types, I close my eyes with a sigh and remind myself this will all be worth it when I can have her plump lips wrapped around my—
“My place weekdays, yours weekends?” she asks.
The throbbing in my pants makes me want to agree to anything. “Sure.”
“That’s three times per week, guaranteed, with the possibility of four. Sounds adequate.”
Adequate? It sounds like a dream cum true. I’m glad I didn’t say that out loud.
“What about the weeks when . . .”
“When what?”
“When it’s your time of the month.”
“You can say period , Heath, you work in health care. And it won’t be an issue. I have an IUD.”
I paid enough attention in the sexual wellness parts of my anatomy classes to know an IUD is a birth control device and not an STI, but that’s about it. “Cool, but what does that mean?”
“It means I don’t really have a ‘time of the month’ anymore.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Congratulations to us both.” She looks away from me again. “Are you still good to use condoms?”
I catch her true meaning but I let it roll off me. “Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” While she types, the awkwardness settles in again. “Any concerns for you?”
I scan the outline again and one thought pops into my head. “The last one.” I peer at her, hoping to judge her expression. She sips her drink and raises an eyebrow. “You left room for us to be with other people.”
“Isn’t that the point?” she asks. “If we find someone we want to be with, a situationship is unnecessary.”
“Then why a pause? Why not end it?”
She smirks. “With your track record? The chances of you keeping a girlfriend for more than two weeks is slim as hell.”
I laugh at my own expense. “Okay, true. But if that’s the case, maybe we should elaborate the ‘no drama’ rule? What does that mean to you?”
“The problem with situationships is that someone always catches feelings,” she says. “I want sex and that’s it. No cuddling, no sleepovers, no talking unless it’s about the schedule. Nothing.”
“And I don’t want any fuckshit,” I say, keeping my true intentions vague. “No drama, no emotions, and no ghosting either. We communicate like mature adults.”
“When did you become a mature adult, exactly?” she asks, then takes a slow drink.
“Can we add a requirement for you to be nice to me?”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” She types, then scans her work. “Anything else?”
I stare at her with contempt. If we’re being honest, I’ve done worse things for a blow job. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Great.” She finishes writing something then hands me the tablet. “Read it again before you sign.”
I review the changes, shaking my head at the ridiculousness.
1. Scheduled times are between 7 p.m. and 11 p.m. on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays through the duration of the contract; both parties must approve all changes.
a. Additional days or times outside of the established schedule require 12 hours’ notice.
3. Emotionally based decisions are to be kept separate from the schedule and terms within the contract, including but not limited to the following;
a. No drama, ghosting, or “general fuckshit”;
b. Conversations are to be kept to a minimum and remain professional in nature;
c. No cuddling, no pillow talk, no sleepovers;
d. If either party is considered to be “catching feelings,” cessation of the agreement will be rendered, effect ive immediately.
This has to be one of the top ten stupidest things I’ve done to get laid. Definitely not top five, but it’s close. “You realize this is insane, right?” I ask.
“Do you want to fuck me all summer or not?” She holds the stylus out to me, challenging me to change my mind. I chuckle at the attempt. She knows she has me.
I scribble my signature and hand it back. “Signed. Now what?”
She takes a final sip of her coffee and throws the tablet into her bag. “It’s Saturday. I’ll see you at eight.”
“Oh.” Shit, we’re really doing this. “Okay, see you then.”
I watch her stand and leave without another word, as if nothing happened. “It’s cool, I’ll get the check,” I murmur to myself.