Page 23 of All Twerk, No Play

This agreement, entered into by and between Party A and Party B, sets forth the terms governing their voluntary activities on the night of [date]. Both parties affirm their full consent in the activities described herein. It is mutually agreed that this contract shall terminate upon the departure of Party A from the premises.

Too restless to watch her type, I slid my boxcutter through tape on an unopened box, removing a decorative vase.

“What we did last night: one kiss, sleep in your bed. Would that be considered,” her voice lilted in a mocking tone, “my one night?”

“Of course not.” If she claimed her night, there would be no sleeping.

“What is the line of demarcation? Second base or third?” Her unrelenting fingers tapped away. “Light or heavy petting?”

I hadn’t heard those terms since middle school. Was she raised by nuns? Honestly, that would explain a lot …

I placed the vase on the top shelf. When I turned, her gaze snapped down from the rise of my shirt, keystrokes never faltering.

“I’ll be clear: Does a night count if it includes oral, intercourse, or penetration? Or if one or both parties experience a climax?” Holy shit, those words in that voice on those lips was getting me worked up, but she didn’t crack a smile. “Is there a minimum allotted time?”

I grappled with an answer. “Two hours.”

She swallowed but her face stayed neutral.

“Maximum?”

“Twelve,” I said, biting back a laugh at the shock she quickly masked. “What if it’s cut short? Is that thecoitus interruptusclause?”

I assumed that lawyers used templates, but this seemed like a second language to her, as seamless as slipping into Spanish when my mom called. She muttered along as she typed:

If the engagement is interrupted, both parties have the option to reschedule within one fortnight, subject to mutual availability.

This contract does not create any legally binding obligations beyond the scope of activities outlined herein. Both parties acknowledge their rights to freely consent or withdraw consent at any time. By signing below,

Her phone rang, flashing Alex’s name and smug face. She stood and twisted away. As she listened, her top lip curled into a sneer.

I slid my hands around her waist. Her body tensed as I rested my chin on her shoulder and planted a loud kiss on her neck. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Bumps ran down her spine as he stammered and hung up. She whirled around, hands on my chest to push me away but paused with her palms on my pecs. “What the hell?”

“You clearly didn’t like whatever he was saying.”

“He invited me to the farmer’s market.”

“Sounds nice. So why was your face so …” I exaggerated a pout.

“With his new girlfriend, who is spending the day baking pies.”

“You looked revolted, you weren’t going to go anyway. Why does it matter?”

“Now I’ll have to explain—”

“You don’t have to explain. He’s not your boyfriend, remember?” I quoted some of my favorite lyrics: “Your ex-man brought his new girlfriend, so you know what to do.”

Her brow furrowed.

No. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

“Victoria,” I took her shoulders, speaking slowly so she couldn’t miss this important lesson. “You shake it off.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She couldn’t possibly not know … “You’re not a Swiftie?”

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