Page 77 of Aim Assist

She busies herself with the kettle, reaching up to grab mugs from the cupboard. Her shirt rides up, revealing a strip of smooth skin at her waist.

Yeah. I want to lick all over that.

"How have you been?" I lean against the counter, watching her. She shrugs, not looking at me.

"Fine. Busy with work." She drops tea bags into the cups, her motions jerky. Nervous.

I hope she's also thinking about how much I want to bend her over the counter and fuck her, tea be damned.

"That's good. I've been busy too. With the move and everything."

She hums, a noncommittal sound, and pours steaming water into the mugs. The scent of chamomile fills the air, soothing. She slides a mug across the counter to me and I wrap my hands around it, letting the heat seep into my skin.

We stand there in silence, sipping our tea. I watch her over the rim of my mug, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She looks tired. Worn down.

She misses me.

Good.

"Amy..." I set my mug down, taking a step toward her. She tenses, her grip tightening on her own mug. "I've missed you."

She looks up at me, her green eyes wary. "Oh?"

"I've come to a conclusion."

Suspicion flashes over her face.

"I think we need more than a week. Give it a little trial run. See how things go."

Her head tilts in a way that's so fucking adorable, I want to eat her up. "A trial run."

"Yes." I grab the paper in my back pocket, handing it to her. "A contract. We can get it notarized if you want. A full year of real dating. At least one date night a week. In exchange, I can't touch you without permission. I can't fall in love with you without permission. I'm not allowed to spend the night without permission. I can't steal your dog. I can't propose. Everything has to be on your terms."

Of course, the caveat is always without her permission.

I plan on getting it. For everything.

She takes the contract, reading it through.

She's agonizingly slow, inspecting every line.

"You want… a contract relationship. With me." She looks up, her brows furrowed. "On purpose."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because." I step forward, the thrill of victory snaking through my limbs when she doesn't tense. "I want to be with you for more than a brief summer story. I want our story to start with a hilarious meeting and end when we're both dead and buried."

"I want to be cremated."

"Or end when our ashes mingle in the wind, laid to rest in the ocean together."

"Actually, I want to plant a tree with my ashes."

"Okay, we can end as trees together."

"What if your tree dies?"

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