The Plus One Pact Read Online Crystal Kaswell

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"It doesn't have to be anyone's fault," I say. "It can be a pattern you've developed, one that's not working for you anymore."

"It can?" she asks.

I nod. "And you can change it anytime. You can say, hey, Danny, I love that you do so much of the housework, you're a fantastic cook, but I miss cooking too. How about I make dinner tonight?"

She bites her lip. "I could. And that… will make sex better?"

I laugh. "Straight to business, huh?"

She blushes. "I'm a horny married woman already."

"No, it's why I'm here. Usually." I take along sip and settle into my role. It feels good, to help her, as a friend or a therapist or whatever this is. "Sex is rarely separate from the relationship. Usually, the same dynamics are in play. Getting high is a way to escape your life, right?"

She nods. "So, I'm not as present as I could be, mentally. Physically, it's amazing, but mentally and emotionally… you're right. I'm stepping back, and he has to step forward to fill the space. So… I have to reclaim some of that space."

"What's something you want from him? Sexually?"

"I want him to tie me up," she says it without thinking. "But isn't that… being passive again?"

"It doesn't have to be. You can create the scene and ask him to follow your script," I say. "It can go exactly how you want it to go."

"Yeah?" she asks.

I nod. "Is there a reason why you haven't done it yet?"

She looks at her coffee. "We did, once. He did try. But he just didn't… bring the energy I wanted, so I didn't ask again."

"What did you want?"

"I think… oh my god, this is so embarrassing." She hides behind her hands. "I wanted to do a whole scene. With a power imbalance, you know. Where I was his assistant, and he was my boss. And I just couldn't imagine Daniel role playing, you know?"

"Could you do it?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She bites her lip. "It would be awkward."

"That's part of the fun."

"Do you think he'd be into it?"

Usually, I don't answer these sorts of questions directly, but, hey, I'm not here as a therapist. I'm here as a friend. "I think he's in love with you and he'd want to try whatever works for you. Especially if you promised to really be present."

"That will be hard."

"Good things always are."

She nods and takes a long sip of her coffee. "Okay. That's smart. You're good at this. But don't think you're getting out of your side. I want to know exactly how Romeo roped you into this whole to-do."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Romeo

After Mom spoils us with one of her signature breakfasts (Dad's old favorite, an over-stuffed scramble with corn tortillas, extra queso fresco, and plenty of Trader Joe's salsa), she tortures us with a Galante-only round of twenty questions on our five-year plans.

Daniel aces every question, of course. In five years, he and Cynthia will own a home near the beach. The start-up she works for will be sold for a truly mind-boggling sum, and the two of them will be richer than god. So rich they won't need any of the family money.

And, oh yeah, maybe, at some point, we'll open that coffee shop.

At least he mentioned it.

I take his lack of interest in stride. After all, that's Daniel. He has a plan. He sticks to it. It will take him a while to change his mind about the best course of action. To even come to a decision.

Even though I tell Mama I don't want to jinx anything, since Ivy and I are new, she asks me to imagine anyway. And, well, I do. I can. It's funny. I've always had her poetic temperament. When I was young, I could imagine a future with a woman, even if we were only together for a night. But all the futures ended the same way. We couldn't come together.

Or, worse, we did, and then I lost her.

And I fell apart and never put myself back together.

Better to stop those thoughts before they start. Better to keep things casual.

A long time ago, I stopped imagining possibilities. I decided they all ended the same way.

It feels strange to allow myself the freedom. It feels strange, to see a future so clearly and swiftly.

The two of us, in my apartment, on a lazy Sunday. I fix her tea. She shakes her head as the smell of coffee fills the space. Why does it always overpower everything? Why does it feel the need to announce itself this way?

She reads one of those memoirs she loves. Or maybe a study for work. I check numbers for the business. We go to the pool and hang out in the water, talking about nothing and everything.

Then a movie on the couch. Something smart. Intimate. She had a few DVDs on her bookshelf. Mostly quiet films about relationships. Not what I normally watch, but, somehow, there's an appeal to sitting next to her, to seeing wonder spread over her face.


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