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 light lulls my brain into tiredness. With tiredness comes thoughts of being in bed. Thoughts of being in bed reminds me of sex. But, at this point, what doesn't?

It has been too long. Four whole months since the accidental roommate altercation, karma is taking its sweet time. But, if I'm being painfully honest, I haven't had great sex since last summer.

That shit was crazy. Teagan and I were bitching about the heat outside our rooms one minute, then fucking on the floor the next. A spur of the moment fling 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—hoping she gives me one more chance to see her staring up at me with that look, to hear her whisper my name, to feel her nails dragging down my back while I—

"Heath!"

My 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 six 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 Ryan's party last week."

Ritchie's tone always sounds like he's plotting something. I swear, every part of him screams punch me in the face. Five-six max, pale with auburn hair and freckles. His baby face makes him look sixteen and he looks like he gets his hair cut by a sous chef. Yet, somehow, he's still 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?"

There's a reason no one likes Ritchie. "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.

Rich follows me. "Chill, bro. We're just teasing."

I get both of them free access to this gym when they have plenty of money to join it themselves, then all they do is tease me? Nah. Fuck that.

"Heath, you know we're just messing with you. You're just pent up," Brett says, hanging an arm over my shoulders. "You should fly out with us this weekend and see the new boat. Let off some steam outside of the states."

The boat, AKA his dad's new 100-foot yacht. "We'll be there at the end of the summer. I'll see it then."

"Yeah, but the bridesmaids will be there." He shakes my shoulders as if his drift wasn't obvious. "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 locker room smells like chlorine. I can't wait to shower. Partially so they'll quit talking to me. "Both of you need to stop," I tell them. "I'm not doing as bad as you think. I left Ryan's party with someone else."

"What?" Ritchie circles to my front and looks at me with that punchable grin. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter. Nothing happened," I unzip my pocket to find my key. "At least nothing yet."

"There you go! There's my Heath!" Rich slaps his hands against my abs. It's like he forgets his girlfriend exists. Or he's banking on the fact that they'll break up again.

"Come on, let's go for a soak," Brett says.

The rooftop pool and 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." He smacks a hand against my ass as they walk away.

When they're finally gone, I breathe a sigh of relief. I forget how annoying summers can be.

I rip off my shirt and toss it in my locker. Under my towel, my phone's screen lights up with a missed notification. When I see what it is, my day gets a lot better.

. . .

My knee bounces nervously under the table. I stare at the text message again, hoping it will give me more information.

I think she wants to talk about a possible deal, 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 on a Friday. The last text I got from her is from two years ago when we were planning Brett's bachelor party. She suggested we go to the strip club that she wanted to go to, which we did. Then she took all of our money and made it rain on a stripper with the fattest ass I've ever seen. That's Teags for you.

No one can tell what that girl is thinking half the time, the other half, she brings a notebook with outlines and talking points like she's still on the debate team. She's got a few screws loose, but man, that pussy is tight.

Her bushy hair catches my attention over the back of the booth. "Teags!" I call to her.

She looks my way and heads over. Her perfect body is wrapped up in a tight pair of yoga pants and a school hoodie. Sliding into the booth next to me, she doesn't say anything and she doesn't smile. She's in business mode, looking like a parent who's about to tell you they know you've been masturbating.

"I got here earlier than you," I remark to break the silence. "That's a first."

"I told you to meet me half an hour earlier so you'd actually be on time."

I blink. "Oh."

The waitress walks over and breaks the awkwardness. "Can I get you something?" she asks Teagan.

"A latte with almond milk, please." 

The waitress nods and walks away. "So . . ." I start to say. "Do you want to tell me why you wanted to meet here?"

She finally looks at me with her big, brown eyes. "I thought about what you said."

"And?"

"I think I figured out a way to make it work," she says. Fuck yeah you did. I lean onto my elbows and smile at the possibilities. "I wrote something up," she says.

"You wrote something?" I watch as she pulls out her tablet, keyboard attached and all. "Did you seriously write a contract?"

"Yes," she answers. "Two parties doing business together 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. It almost makes sense.

Proposed Guidelines of the Hargrove-Reynolds Situation-ship:

This contract is to outline a consensual agreement for scheduled sex. The Situation-ship is to be defined by the summer party season and its mandatory events from June 1 through August 31.

Sex is defined as sexual acts including but not limited to petting, penetration, and all forms of intercourse 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.

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; all 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 my head. That ain't half bad.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"I like it."

"Great. We'll need to agree on a schedule then." She pulls out her phone and opens the calendar app. Awkwardly, I do the same.

She shows me her typical week and we compare it to mine. Her classes and my work schedule seem to align.

"It looks like we have Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays," she summarizes.

"Sundays would be good for me, too," I tell her. "Some stress relief before Monday would be nice."

"I have family dinner that day. You know that," she snips.

I do know that but I don't know why she thinks I care. "So even if we are free at the same time, we can't have sex because it's not on the schedule?"

She rolls her eyes. "Spontaneity crosses into relationship territory. It's regular dick appointments or I'm out."

"Well, okay then."

She looks at me for a moment, then says, "We can add a 12-hour notice for extra available days, if that works."

"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 of how good her plump lips feel when they're wrapped around my—

"My place weekdays, yours weekends?" she asks.

The throbbing in my pants makes me want to agree to anything at this point. "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.

"Are you good to use condoms?"

I catch her meaning but I let it roll off. "Yeah, of course. But, what about the weeks you're . . . you know."

"No, I don't know."

"Your . . . time of the month."

"You can say 'period.' 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. "What does that mean?"

"It means I don't even have that time of the month anymore."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Congratulations." She looks at me again. "Can you think of anything else?"

I scan over 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 something real comes along, a situationship is unnecessary."

"Then why a pause? Why not end it?"

She smirks. "With your track record? The chances of you having something 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?"

"How so?"

"The problem with these types of . . . arrangements is that someone always catches feelings," I tell her, keeping my true intentions vague. "I want none of the fuckshit. No drama, no emotions, and no ghosting. We talk about only what we need to honor the contract."

"Sounds good to me. 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 move my eyes over the changes, hating it the whole time.

1. Schedule is to be preapproved. Both parties must approve all changes.

a. Scheduled times are between 7PM and 11PM on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays through the duration of the contract;

b. Additional days or times outside of the established schedule require a 12-hour notice.

2. No shared meals or public excursions generally defined as dates; all 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. The agreed terms include but are 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, effective immediately.

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.

This has to be one of the top ten stupidest things I've done to get laid. Definitely not top five, but it's up there.

I give her a smirk. "You realize you're insane, right?"

"And is that suddenly enough of a reason not to fuck me?"

"Nope."

"So, sign the damn thing and let's move on."

Teags hands me the stylus and I start to chuckle. "I feel like I'm leasing your pussy."

She looks at me for a moment and then shrugs as if she's fine with that idea.

I scribble my signature and hand it back. "Signed." She does the same, and yet again, I can't believe we are doing this. "Now what?" I ask her.

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 as she stands and leaves without another word. "It's cool, I'll get the check," I murmur to myself.

_____

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