Page 20 of Avenged By Lov

He pulled out his phone, punched some things into it, and then held it toward me. “See, there’s actually a whole app for people who are in these kinds of marriages. They talk about all the dos and don’ts to making it work.”

“There is not!” I wasn’t sure if I was appalled or relieved someone else might have had this same type of conversation with someone they barely knew.

I pulled his phone out of his hands, and the warmth from him trickled across me again. It felt like comfort. It felt like the times when Mom was still alive and I’d come home to the smell of brownies. It felt right. But it was oh-so wrong. As wrong as our discussion.

I looked down at the app, and there it was. It was called Marriage For Benefits, and when you logged in, it said, “Welcome, you’re the 106,098 person to join this group.”

One hundred thousand other people had done this.

One hundred thousand…

I poured myself another drink, and Travis chuckled again.

“See. Not as crazy as you first thought, right? This is what I’ve been doing all day. And the more time that goes by, the more it feels right instead of wrong.”

He grabbed the brandy and the glass and stood. Then, he reached out his hand and pulled mine into his. He tugged me from the kitchen table. I was still in too much shock to fight him. He led me down the hall to the library. He put the alcohol down and rummaged through the desk until he found an old yellow notebook and a pen.

“Sit down,” he said, waving me toward the loveseat in front of the fireplace. And I did because my legs were wobbly—from the alcohol, and the meds, and Travis’s touch, and what he was proposing—and the fact that there were more than fifty thousand other couples who had done what he was suggesting we do.

He joined me, placing the notebook and pen on my lap before handing me another drink. This was my third shot of brandy. He was on, what, six? Eight? Who knew? I’d stopped counting.

“What’s this for?” I asked, picking up the pen.

“Our contract.”

I pushed the paper toward him. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

Had I just slurred my words?

He pushed it back toward me. “I’ll start. We both agree this is a temporary arrangement.”

I didn’t write anything, so he took it from me and wrote at the top: “Jersey Banner and Travis Dayton’s Marriage Contract. Item one: This is a temporary arrangement.”

Seeing our names together like that, in ink, on paper, made me feel faint. I sank back on the couch, the soft cushions soothing my senses, putting distance between me and the man who was continuing to overwhelm me both physically and mentally.

“Your turn. What do you want on here?”

I shook my head.

“Fine, I’ll do another one. We both agree the marriage will end when one or both of us finds another partner we want to be in a permanent relationship with.”

“Wait. What does that mean exactly? Does it mean we can date other people while we’re married, but that we end the marriage if the relationship becomes serious?” I asked, confused already.

He seemed to consider this, eyes scanning my face before moving down me to my sweater-clad breasts, where they seemed to linger, making me draw my hands up and check to make sure the buttons were closed. He looked back up at my face. “Sure,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t just checked me and my breasts out.

I put my fingers to my flaming cheeks. This was the problem with me and alcohol. I was a lightweight. A couple shots in and I was already thinking about him checking me out, and what I would do if he did more than check me out.

“No osculating,” I said, sitting back up and grabbing the paper from him.

“What the hell is osculating?” he asked, and I flushed.

“Kissing. No kissing.”

“I think they’ll ask me to kiss the bride.” He chuckled.

“They won’t care if you kiss my cheek,” I said.

“Does this mean you agree to do this?” he asked.