Page 100 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
“Okay,” I say quietly. “Condoms until I feel like it’s okay.”
His eyes meet mine. No challenge. No teasing.
Just a nod. “Condoms, unless you agree not to use them. I’ll follow your lead.”
And for a second, it’s not funny. It’s not flirty. It’s just honest.
Vulnerable.
And then . . . “Also,” he says, reaching for his wine again, “I’m adding Clause Nine.”
“Oh God. What now?”
“No comparing me to balloons or gas-powered objects during foreplay.”
I glare. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I have self-esteem, Olivia. Let me live.” He glares at me.
“And you’ll stay on your side of the bed—assuming we’re even using a bed, which is not a guarantee.”
“Not a guarantee,” he echoes, already grinning like he’s won.
“Okay,” I say, reaching for the pen. “But if you even whisper the word ‘cuddle,’ I will drown you in your protein powder.”
He grabs the takeout box like it’s the most romantic prop in the world. “Deal sealed. Sign, please.”
I scribble my name.
He follows, signing “General Lucian Crawford, Esq.”
I blink. “What is that signature?”
“It’s my contract persona,” he says with a grin that oozes swagger and zero shame. “It’s my alter ego. General Lucian gets things done.”
I arch a brow. “General Lucian sounds exhausting.”
He says with a grin that oozes swagger and zero shame, “And you, Dr. Olivia Halston, are now officially in this with me. Welcome to our mutually beneficial, emotionally-void partnership.”
I don’t get a chance to fire back with something clever.
Because the second those words leave his mouth, Lucian closes the distance between us as if he has been restraining himself this whole time—and he’s finally done pretending.
His hands are in my hair, gripping like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me. My fingers clutch the front of his T-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
There’s nothing cautious about this. Nothing planned or strategic. This isn’t General Lucian making a move.
This is Lucian—unfiltered, unscripted—kissing me as if he has waited too long and finally snapped.
I melt into it.
I kiss him back.
I don’t think.
Don’t analyze.
Don’t remind myself that we just signed a contract designed to keep feelings out of this.
