“I thought this was a fun game. Like he’s trapped you in this fake relationship, so you’re happy to receive orgasms in return. A bonus for putting up with Barrett’s cranky ass. Is there more to it?” She’s eyeing me closely. “Do you have actual feelings for him?”

I slowly shake my head, but all I can think is—do I? Everything feels different after this weekend. But maybe I’m just mistaking feelings for physical attraction and chemistry. Lust. There’s definitely plenty of that between me and Barrett. But in the Hamptons, it felt like more.

“Good.” Jules takes another bite of the cookie, then pushes the rest toward me. “I don’t want you to get hurt. And while I have no doubt he enjoyed giving you an orgasm, Barrett seems like the kind of guy that can easily walk away when he’s done getting what he wants.”

I consider her words while I swallow a bite of sandwich.

Jules is right.

Barrett and I are fake dating so he can get close to Fred. We have an expiration date and I can’t let an orgasm, no matter how mind blowing it was, let me forget it.

* * *

I glance at the screen of Barrett’s phone, my mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“How is that possible?”

“I must be a superior WordIt player.” He grins.

“You didn’t even know what WordIt was,” I say, exasperated at the outcome of the game. “I told you about WordIt. You can’t beat me at the game I told you about.” I sigh. “Again.”

Fresh out of the shower, I’m wearing a t-shirt and sleep shorts, my wet hair is pulled up into a knot on top on my head. I met Barrett at the racquet club after work. My nails the perfect excuse to not play tennis, I had planned to listen to my audio book in a cozy nook of the club’s lounge, but after being entranced watching a sweaty Barrett play his Wednesday evening match, my priorities changed. I’m not even sure how that is possible, but it is. Hearing Barrett grunt with effort to return a serve had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I had no idea tennis was so erotic.

Thinking about it makes my eye twitch. I rub my eye and end up scratching my eyelid.

“Ow. You’d think I’d be used to these by now.”

Barrett pulls me to standing and kisses the spot where my eyelid hurts.

“Come with me,” he says.

“That’s what I’ve been doing. For the past two nights,” I mutter. It’s not really a hardship but I am starting to get frustrated with my 0-3 losing streak.