8. You Can’t Put Canoodling In The Contract
EIGHT
YOU CAN’T PUT CANOODLING IN THE CONTRACT
? Babydoll - Jamie Miller
CLIO
Noah hasn’t moved from his spot near the door, staring blankly ahead as though lost in thought.
I can’t help but feel like the timing of my arrival was kismet.
Who knows what would've happened if Noah had to go through this alone? Maybe it’s just the people pleaser in me and her constant need to feel useful, but I’m glad I could be here for him even if it was panic that forced him to lean on me.
“What do you say we invite Lexi over to hang out with you for a bit? Would you like that?”
A wide smile spreads across Auggie’s face, pushing out his round cheeks. “Yes!”
I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Lexi. A few minutes later, a quiet knock snaps Noah out of his trance.
“Hey kid.” He pulls open the door and gestures for Lexi to come inside. “Your mom’s in the living room.”
I wave her over. “Do you mind hanging out with Auggie for a bit? Noah and I need to talk.”
“Sure. Is... everything ok?”
“Yep. All good. Just some grown-up stuff.”
Before she can ask any more questions I don’t yet have the answers to, Auggie comes in with a well-timed interruption. “Lexi! Look! I drawed a cat!”
“Wow! That’s awesome! I really love his fluffy tail.”
I stand and let Lexi take my place next to Auggie. “We’ll be across the hall. Text if you need anything.”
I tug on Noah’s forearm, forcing him to follow me to my apartment. “Time to have a little chat.”
“Fucking hell. It looks like Strawberry Shortcake threw up in here.”
“Thank you.” With a rush of satisfaction, I slump onto my plush green velvet sofa, relaxing into the comfy cushions. He hasn’t been inside my apartment since I convinced him to let me paint the walls. It’s brighter and more cheerful than it was when we moved in.
“That wasn’t a compliment, princess.”
“Whatever. Sit down, Weston. We need to talk.”
“What about?” He sits in the floral armchair caddy corner to the sofa, incongruous to his surroundings.
“If we’re going to pretend to be engaged for the next few months, we should set some ground rules. A mutually beneficial arrangement, you might say.”
There’s a brief but somehow terrifying pause, and then he says, “Ok. What are your terms and conditions, Miss Marsden?”
He’s being deliberately condescending, but I’m inclined to ignore it for the sake of the arrangement. Maybe I’m being impulsive, but ever since Lexi brought up my love life—or lack thereof—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
What would it be like to start dating again in my thirties? It’s been so long, and just the thought of trying to meet new people makes me nervous. I need a crash course. A refresher, if you will.
“We’ll tell everyone that we’re together. Show them that you’re providing a stable home for Auggie.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“You’ll teach me how to date again. I haven’t been with anyone since Lexi’s dad, and I’m finally ready to dip my toe in the water. But it’s been a while, and so much has changed.”
“They have apps for that. Bars. There’s even a speed dating thing in Starling Falls every month.”
None of that is appealing in the slightest. “Fine. Then I guess you can go there to find another fiancée.”
Another pause, longer this time, as though he’s considering the suggestion. I hadn’t meant to offer him an alternative solution, and now I’m worried he might take it.
“Fair enough. Three months.”
Sweet relief sweeps through me. “Hold that thought.” I pull out my strawberry notepad and pen from the basket under the coffee table.
“Christ,” he mutters. “Strawberry shortcake.”
I pin him with a glare and flip to an empty page.
“What are you doing?”
“Writing a contract.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Landlord. Is it?”
“Touché.”
On the top of the page, I write Noah and Clio’s Engagement Contract and underline it with a squiggle.
“Three months starting today. Four public outings per week.”
“What exactly constitutes a public outing?”
“Anything, as long as we’re seen together. One of them should be a date, just the two of us, to fulfill your end of the deal.”
“Make it three outings. One date.”
I scratch out four and write three above it. “Should either party wish to terminate this contract at any time, the dissolution must be mutually agreed upon unless one of us fails to hold up our end of the bargain.”
“You’re taking this way too seriously,” he says dryly.
I add another bullet point. “Canoodling. For believability.”
“You can’t put canoodling in the contract.”
I add three exclamation points for emphasis, dotting them with an exaggerated defiance. “I just did.”
“Fine. What else?”
“The usual stuff. Hand holding. Longing glances. You know, couple stuff. I’ll just write ‘etc.’”
“What about sex?”
A shiver courses through me at the gruff edge to his voice and my brain short circuits. “What?”
“Sex. Couples have sex, Clio.”
“Not this one. Absolutely no sex,” I add, underlining the word three times. “And no cheating.”
“Is it cheating if this isn’t real?”
He has a point, but even if we aren’t together, it will look like it to everyone else. I won’t be publicly humiliated like that ever again. “Technically, no. But we have to keep up appearances for Auggie’s sake.”
And mine.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The position brings him much closer, almost uncomfortably so. “If I’m not fucking you, and I’m not fucking anyone else, what do you suggest I do? A man has needs, princess.”
My stomach twists into a pretzel, and I pause to wet my suddenly dry lips. I’m pretty sure all of the liquid in my body has been redirected to my pussy.
Now I can’t seem to focus on anything but his mouth.
And hands.
And…
I squirm in my seat, way too hot and more than a bit awkward. “You’re a big boy, Noah. Take care of it yourself.” I clear my throat. “Do you have anything else you want to add?”
He relaxes, putting distance between us again, and the tension melts away. “No. That pretty much covers it.”
“Good.” I scrawl my name on the first line, then pass the notepad and pen to Noah. He scribbles something indecipherable and hands it back to me. “This ends December 26th.”
“Should we shake on it? Do a blood oath?” Noah asks, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Make fun of me all you want, Weston, but I have the upper hand. You need me. Not the other way around.”
He leans in close, barely an inch away from my cheek. What does this man have against personal space? “Maybe that’s true, but I’m the only thing standing between you and swiping left on a bunch of mediocre men’s senior photos from twenty years ago.”
The air grows charged as I hold out my hand between us. His palm slides against mine, his long fingers curling around me in a caress that’s surprisingly gentle and far too tempting.
Is it too late to put sex on the table? Or have sex on the table?
My heart hammers against my ribcage for what feels like an eternity before his hand drops away.
I watch him leave, unable to shake the feeling that something just fundamentally shifted, something that can’t be taken back.