Page 33 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

Silas

Of course there’s a document,and of course it’s neatly outlined into three sections, each with bullet points.

I can’t believe I ever thought this might be the easiest way out. Across from me, leaning against her desk in high-waisted gray trousers and a white button-down shirt, Kat clears her throat.

“Peruse this and let me know if you have any questions,” she says, not making eye contact.

It’s only a page long, but there are three sections: Acceptable, When Circumstances Require, and Never. Within each are several bullet points of various actions that could be undertaken by a romantic couple, described in the same academic tone she probably uses to classify rocks, or whatever she does here.

I feel like an asshole who brought a flower to a knife fight.

“Should be pretty straightforward,” she says, still not looking at me. I sneak a glance up at her face, tilted down behind bangs and glasses, her whole posture stiff and angular and screaming mental discomfort.

“It looks that way,” I start, and her gaze flicks up. I hold it. “But I think we still ought to go over it verbally. Best practices and all.”

“What exactly did you have questions about?”

“Just read it aloud, starting at the top,” I tell her, ignoring her last question. “We can confirm agreement point-by-point.”

“You can’t read?”

“I prefer to discuss.” Like hell she’s shoving some rules at me and kicking me out without talking about it.

Kat stands up straighter. She tucks her hair behind her ears, clears her throat again.

“Okay,” she says, and suddenly she sounds nervous. “Acceptable romantic actions.”

I settle in a little more against Meckler’s desk, getting comfortable.

“Hand holding,” she starts, her voice low, not looking up. “Putting our arms around each other. Touching on the back. Touching on the shoulders and arms. Sitting close together. Quietly talking to one another. Hair caresses within reason. Non-mouth kisses in non-risque regions. Moderate cuddling while clothed.”

The list comes out rapid-fire and staccato, and I’m not sure she pauses for a breath until it’s over. I lean back and take a pen from the pen holder on Meckler’s desk, fully intending to steal it when we leave.

“I’d like a definition of within reason,” I say, making a quick note.

“I mean don’t pet me or something, I’m not your cat.”

“I promise you look nothing alike.”

There’s a moment with no response, and when I glance up, she’s looking at me.

“You have a cat?”

“I do.”

“You don’t seem like a cat guy.”

In response, I toss her my phone. She drops it, picks it up, and looks at the lock screen. A long-haired tortoiseshell cat looks back at her.

“Cute?” she says, after a moment.

“Her name’s Beast,” I say. “When I found her in my cabin I thought she was a demon at first.”

Kat doesn’t respond to that, just leans forward and hands me my phone, as if reminding me I didn’t have to throw it.

“Are you going to make me define moderate as it pertains to cuddling, or can we both agree to a mutual understanding of the word and move on?” she asks, giving me a pointed look.

“If I were your attorney I’d advise a completely new draft of this document five times longer and a hundred times more specific,” I say. “You don’t even have a breach of contract clause in here.”