Page 4 of The Pact
“I’m not trying to trap you into anything. Let’s think of it as a safety net of sorts.”
“For what?” she asks, brows pulled together.
“For us,” I answer.
She searches my face intently.
“Thirty,” she says.
“Thirty,” I confirm.
“If we’re both single…”
“We get married.” I finish.
She lets out a breath in a swoosh. “You’re a little crazy—you know that?”
“Maybe. But I think you like it.”
Her lips twitch.
“Fine,” she mutters.
My heart skips a beat.
“Fine?” I repeat.
“Fine,” she says firmly this time. “We make a pact.”
Something in my chest loosens. Relief. Although it could just be the illusion that I haven’t lost her completely.
I don’t want to give her even a second to change her mind, so with the pen in hand, I scribble words on the paper.
The Pact
Party A: Saint, Aka Wyatt St. Clair
Party B: Doc, Aka Presley Grant
1. Both parties agree to remain best friends, regardless of time zones, schedules, and how many supermodels Saint needs to politely reject.
2. Both parties agree to FaceTime at least once a week to argue about Marvel movies.
3. If, at age thirty, both parties are single, miserable, or just tired of dating subpar people, they agree to marry each other.
4. The wedding must be quick. Preferably in a courthouse with minimal to no fanfare.
5. Oreos will be served in lieu of cake.
6. Both parties agree “To Make You Feel My Love,” Garth’s version, is their song.
7. Once married, Party A promises to give Party B an orgasm every day. Night too.
8. Both parties agree never to go to bed angry.
9. Both parties will always speak the truth, no matter if it hurts.
10. No loopholes. No take-backs. No excuses.
