“Tell you what, Alice. I’ll take ten dollars’ worth of raffle tickets if you have dinner with me one night soon.” Dan’s blue eyes dazzled and he was looking at her as if she was the only woman in the world.
Having watched from the sidelines for years, Alice was used to Dan’s modus operandi. “I’m a bit old for you.”
“What do you mean? We’re the same age.”
“I’ve been back in the bay six months, Dan. I haven’t seen you out and about with anyone over twenty-three.”
“Perhaps you can convert me.”
Leaning her elbows on the bar, she looked straight at the man who’d been a player from the moment puberty took him from a scrawny kid to a tall, blond, broad-shouldered and sun-kissed adult. “We both know that’s a lie.”
He laughed. “I like this new you, Alice. It’s incredibly sexy.”
She wasn’t sure if she liked the edge that had recently sharpened inside her, but either way, she was in no mood for nonsense. “What are you really proposing, Dan?”
“What are you up for, Alice?”
His voice—deep and rich, smooth as vintage port—rumbled around her and something shifted inside her. “I’m up for honesty.”
“That’s unexpected, but doable.” Dan sipped his beer thoughtfully. “This is me being brutally honest. I’m not interested in commitment or kids. I’m single, you’re single, I like you, we get along well and we’ve known each other since the cradle.”
“That’s a series of facts.”
He smiled. “Can’t get anything past you, can I? Okay, winter and spring are the tourist doldrums in the bay. I’m proposing a friends-with-benefits arrangement to while away May to November.”
She straightened up. “I’m not interested in 2:00 a.m. booty calls, Dan.”
“Jeez, Alice.” He pressed his hand to his heart. “Give me some credit. That’s not what I’m suggesting. There will always be food and conversation. Always the three Cs.”
“What are they?”
“Consent, clean bedsheets and condoms.”
An unexpected tingle shot through her. “You’ve actually thought this through.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. So, what do you reckon?”
“What do I reckon?” Alice couldn’t believe they were even having this discussion or that she hadn’t shut him down yet, let alone the fact she was considering his outrageous suggestion. But weeks of flirting with Tim had not only kickstarted her libido, its growing need to be sated was wearing her down.
Growing up, Karen’s advice had been, “Sex is an extension of a loving relationship.” Unlike Libby, who’d apparently done way more experimenting growing up, Alice had only ever had sex inside a relationship. Even the virtual sex with Tim had occurred after hours of conversation. Friends with benefits was something utterly foreign to her, but then again, up until a few weeks ago online dating had fallen under that banner too.
Dan was correct—they’d known each other all their lives, although they were hardly close friends. Every year when she’d come home for a vacation, they invariably ran into each other and enjoyed a quick catch-up. One Christmas, she’d enrolled Lawrence in Dan’s “Learn to Surf” classes. As it turned out, it hadn’t been her best gift. Her ex had complained bitterly that Dan spent more time flirting with her than teaching him. At the time, she’d rejected Lawrence’s accusation, but it had been true. Alice knew that flirting was as natural as breathing for Dan and it meant nothing, so she’d allowed herself to enjoy his compliments. Plus, Dan had always been easy on the eyes—if the sun-bronzed surfer look was your catnip.
It had never been hers. Historically, Alice, like Libby, had been attracted to dark-eyed, dark-haired men, and both had been betrayed. But she’d just asked blond-headed Dan for honesty and surprisingly he’d delivered. Still, did she really want to go down this rabbit hole just to scratch an itch?
You haven’t had sex in over six months. Dan’s athletic, experienced and you know him. He’s much safer than meeting a random guy online.
“If we do this, we’d need rules.”
Dan immediately grabbed a napkin, wrote Rules of Engagement and underlined it.
“Don’t you think we should have sex first before we worry about rules? We might not be compatible.”
“The fact you’re considering this means we’re compatible.” He clicked his pen and wrote, 1. No strings. 2. CCC.
“No dick pics.”
“Crikey, Alice. You’re lucky I’m here to save you from dating apps.”
She stifled a bubble of laughter, protecting her attempt at a business-like manner. “Yeah, right. Just write it down.”
As he wrote down the number four he said, “No sleepovers.”
It was code for no cuddling or spooning—no ambiguity. Was she really prepared to give up intimacy for sex? “Sure. But as I’m currently living at home due to financial constraints, we’ll need to use your place. I promise to get up and go as soon as the job’s done.”
“Job?” He gave her a pitying look. “And to think I pegged you as a romantic.”
“We both know this has nothing to do with romance.”
“Sure, but it doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. Just tell me what you like and don’t like, and I’ll do the same.”
During her one attempt with Lawrence to ask for what she wanted, he’d accused her of giving him stage directions. “That’s one of those things that sounds good in theory but never actually works without someone’s feelings getting hurt.”
“Alice,” he said gently. “The whole point of this is there’s no relationship bullshit getting in the way. That leaves us free to enjoy ourselves.”
What Dan considered relationship bullshit was everything Alice missed about being part of a couple. Still, she couldn’t fault his honesty. “Thursdays are good for me.”
“Thursdays could work.” He tapped his pen against his lips. “What else?”
“You said food and conversation, but we can’t be seen eating in town every Thursday
