Page 24 of The Dating Pact

I opened the freezer door, standing in the cool air for a few seconds. I wanted to tell him that, yes, it could be that easy. People did it all the time. According to the stories I’d heard, his friend Dylan used to do it. There was a whole culture around finding sex through apps, so I didn’t know why something twisted in my gut.

Something like jealousy.

This wasn’t a competition to see who succeeded first in meeting our goals, but I had to admit, it niggled me a bit that I’d secured a date first, which ended up a bust, while he essentially floundered his way into what seemed to be the perfect situation for him.

And that made me such a jerk, to be jealous of my friend. We made this pact to help each other.

So, help him, I would.

I placed the rocky road ice cream into the cart then steered it to the next aisle for a can of whipped cream. Jude tossed in some string cheese.

“Anything else you want?” I asked, and he shook his head. “Are you sure?” I nodded toward the pharmacy corner. “Because while we’re here, you can stock up.”

His forehead scrunched in confusion until I reached for the condoms. Then his eyes widened. I read from the box. “Helps extend pleasure and performance. Mmm, sounds good, don’t you think?”

He craned his neck around, like he usually did when ensuring no kids heard whatever they weren’t supposed to. But his kids weren’t here, and I threw the box of Trojans into the cart while Jude dragged his palm down his face, muttering something indecipherable.

“Don’t you want to be prepared?” I bent to study the bottles on the shelf. “You should get some lube too. Do you have a preference?”

He blinked at me. “Do I look like someone who has a preference of lube?”

“Personal appearance has nothing to do with sexual proclivity.”

“Sexual proc…” He trailed off, slack-jawed for a few long moments before breaking into a reluctant chuckle. “Remind me to bring you in for the sex talk with my kids.”

I shrugged. I had no problem teaching the birds and the bees. Not that I was a professional educator or anything, but it didn’t embarrass me to talk about it. Before my cancer, I’d had a healthy sex life, which was part of Tom’s problem. He couldn’t adapt to the sudden and steep drop-off of my sex drive when I’d first started feeling sick. Sex hadn’t been fun or even felt good at that point, and we hadn’t known what it was. He kept telling me it would pass.

“Here.” I handed him the blue box with the lube inside. “A lot of people think water-based is best because it’s natural, but oil or silicone lasts longer. Harder to get out of sheets, though.”

“And you know because…?”

“Experience.”

His cheeks turned pink.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not, but I’m not used to needing any…” He gestured to the shelves.

“Well, you’re gonna need to get used to it,” I said, wheeling the cart to the self-checkout, where we bagged our handful of items and headed back out to our cars to drive to the farm.

Jude arrived ahead of me with his brownies in hand. He helped me out of my car, insisting on carrying the bags into the little farmhouse I’d converted into my office. I kept some utensils, plates, and cookware in the kitchen. There was also a tiny bathroom and the comfiest couch I could find. Working on the farm was physically difficult, with long days under the sun, so I made sure the office doubled as a place to cool down and rest when I or any of my workers needed it.

I pulled down two bowls from the cabinet as Jude opened the brownies and ice cream. We made our sundaes and settled on the couch by mutual silent agreement. I moaned when I swallowed my first bite. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jude staring at me, and I shifted over so I could put my bare feet on the couch. “You’re gonna get sick of me from hanging out so often lately.”

He shook his head. “Never.”

I plugged in my phone, hitting my playlist, and we ate in silence as Jason Mraz sang, my toes tapping against Jude’s thigh. “What are you thinking about?” I asked after a while. “You have that arrow.”

“What arrow?”

I motioned to my own forehead, demonstrating how his forehead crinkled. “Your wrinkles point down in an arrow.”

He smacked his forehead. “Thank you so much for pointing it out.”

“I’ve got cream for that.”

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