“We are going to break up. Six weeks or as soon as your deal with Fred is done, whichever comes first. It’s what you wrote,” I remind him. I marked the day on my calendar. It’s a week before Lauren’s wedding. I remember the relief I felt when I realized I wouldn’t have to explain any of this to my parents. My fake relationship with Barrett will be in the rearview mirror before I’m back in Colorado.

“I’m going to vote for a conscious uncoupling that leaves me unlimited access to that reading room,” I offer.

Barrett’s lips quirk. He finds my arrangement amusing.

“What do I get?” he asks.

His eyes scan over my face.

“What do you want?” I ask earnestly because apparently negotiating is our thing.

Barrett’s eyes drop lower on my body. I swear I can feel the heat of his gaze all the way down to my toes. It happens so quickly, or maybe not even at all. I probably imagined it. Maybe he’s eyeing a mole on my neck. Yeah, that’s probably it.

His brow furrows in concentration. He’s trying to remember the name of the dermatologist he’s going to refer me to.

But then, there are those long fingers reaching up toward his mouth. I’m not imagining those. Two fingers slide across his bottom lip, tugging the flesh sideways. My eyes follow their path. It’s a slow seduction of my pupils. Is that a thing?

With that one movement, all the air gets sucked out of my lungs. Suddenly the two-thousand-square-foot space around us feels stifling.

Barrett’s lips haven’t touched mine in three days and suddenly that feels like an eternity. If his kiss on the cheek outside affected my lady bits, now they’re fully alert. And wet.

It makes no sense, but that’s what happens when he taunts me with his kissable lips and capable fingers. I’ll give up the reading room right now if he would just bend down and kiss me, press those skilled digits into my hair.

No, that’s not right.

I need to get my priorities straight. Minutes earlier I was telling myself not to be affected by Barrett’s appeal. There’s no heart behind those pouty lips and perfect smile. How have I forgotten so quickly?

The door to the pro shop swings open giving me a much-needed breeze of fresh air. And to remind me why we’re here.

“There you are!” Frankie exclaims when she sees us. “Is this skirt not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen? I just love tennis.”

And by cute, she means tiny.