Page 1 of Gym With Benefits

1

Jess

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at an envelope.

It was the size of my outstretched palm, andthick. Expensive chartreuse card stock that hinted at something even more expensive within. And to top it all off? A gold wax seal with the wordsManford Mansion.

This kind of envelope could only mean one thing.

I went to the fridge and poured myself a glass of wine, because why the hell not. Then I sat back down and considered the envelope some more. Turning it over in my hands. Prodding it like it was a cockroach I wasn’t sure was dead or alive.

It was addressed to Jessica Seymore. The number of people who called me Jessica instead of Jess was small. The return address was Manford Mansion, with an address in Charlottesville, Virginia. And because I was feeling catty, I decided it sounded like the kind of place that used to own people.

I was on my second glass of wine when David came home. He was hummingAbracadabraby Lady Gaga, swaying his hips in the way only a queer man could pull off. His AirPods were in, and he didn’t notice me until after he’d shed his coat.

He gave a start and pulled one of the AirPods out. “Mother Mary. What are you doing lurking there? Am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be in trouble?” I asked my roommate.

“I don’t know! You’re sitting there with a glass of wine, looking like you’re about to hold an intervention or something.” He picked up the glass and sniffed it. “And for the record, it would be rude to hold an intervention while drinking the target’s wine.”

“Sorry, it was an emergency,” I replied. “And no, I’m not holding an intervention. I’m having a staring contest with a piece of mail.”

“That’s a relief.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead, then picked up the envelope. “Ohh. Fancy.”

And without any other preamble, David tore the envelope open like it was a piece of junk mail. We had that kind of friendship, and he was that kind of nosy.

“Amberleigh Paddock?” he read out loud, confirming my suspicion. “That’s the cuntiest name I’veeverheard.” He glanced over at me and winced. “Shit. She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she?”

“Former friend. And yes, a grade-A cunt.”

David leaned forward and hissed, “I fuckingknew it.” He cleared his throat, held the letter out at arm’s length, and began to read it out loud like it was his job. “You are formerly invited to the wedding of Amberleigh and Jacksyn. Jacksyn with a Y? Seriously?”

“Even cuntier,” I said, downing the rest of the wine. “Sounds like they’re perfect for each other.”

“I’m going to go change into my comfy clothes, but then I need the full story. Don’t move.”

“I’ll give you the full story in exchange for more wine.”

“Deal. There’s another chardonnay in the back of the fridge.”

I opened that bottle while David went and changed. Then I examined the letter itself. It was on the same chartreuse card stock as the envelope, with gold calligraphy that looked expensive. Not surprising—Amberleigh always had expensive tastes, even when she was pretending to be a “poor” college student.

David came skipping out of his room in his favorite pink sweatpants and a crop-top that would have removed all doubt about his sexuality to even the most obtuse observer. “Okay! Story time!” he announced while pouring himself a glass of wine.

Here’s the full story about Amberleigh Paddock. We were randomly matched as roommates during our freshman year at Georgetown. We had a lot in common: we both played varsity tennis in high school, but weren’t good enough to play at the college level. Our parents were divorced, and we hated our stepmothers. I was an only child, and so was she. We loved all the same music (Taylor Swift and Harry Styles), had the same favorite show (Scrubs), and hated the same celebrities (Ryan Reynolds especially). We became instant best friends.

That friendship continued throughout college, with us choosing to be roommates every year thereafter. We were inseparable… until our Senior year. I was dating a boy named Carter, who was a relief pitcher on the varsity baseball team. My apartment was closer to campus than his, so he practically lived at our place so he could sleep an extra ten minutes in the morning before baseball practice. He and Amberleigh got along, so it was all good.

But it wastoogood.

One day, while he was in the shower, Carter’s phone chimed with a text message. It was on the desk in front of me, and I glanced at it.

It was a text message from Amberleigh.

A text message with a nude photo attached and a kissy face emoji.

Okay, look. I’m not proud of snooping, but I couldn’t help it. Just like I couldn’t help but scroll up and see that they had been sleeping together since that summer, when Carter and I lived three hours apart. Exchanging hundreds of texts a day.