Getting Lucky. Avril Tremayne

long. The only women who lasted in his life were those who dated his friends—like Veronica, whom he treated like a sister even after her split from Rafael. And wasn’t that at least one reason Romy had transferred her starry eyes from Matt to Teague in their freshman year? Not only because Teague really was perfect but because Matt had brought him to her, thereby marking her place in Matt’s life while she got her head around consigning Matt to the friend zone?

      How long would she last if she stepped out of that zone? Matt had said friendship at the end was possible with women he’d had sex with but that most didn’t want it. Why would she be any different from all those other women?

      The baby, of course. The baby made her different. But the baby made her vulnerable, too, because it was precious not only for its own sake but because it would be a part of Matt that would always belong to her, a part she was allowed to love. She so wanted to believe Matt would come to love the baby, which would be like loving a part of her, even if he didn’t call it love.

      Impossible to risk all that for one night...and yet just as impossible not to after wanting him for so long. Oh, how she wished she could blur the line between sex and friendship instead of stepping over it, keeping everything in its proper place.

      If the sex was awful, she probably could. They’d laughingly accept that they’d given it the old college try and there was no harm done whether she was pregnant—experiment concluded successfully—or not—back to Plan A.

      If it was awful...

      But Romy knew it wouldn’t be awful.

      The tightness of her skin told her that. Her racing heart, too. The way the smell of his pine-tree-scented soap made her want to lick him.

      Those were the feelings lovers had, not friends.

      Lovers.

      Love.

      Don’t call it love. Call it anything except love. Friendship, camaraderie, affection. A window of opportunity. A cheaper, faster, more efficient method of sperm insertion. Release valve. Direct deposit. Plan B. Sex, just sex.

      If she kept all those descriptions in mind, surely she could do this. She could blur the line, she would blur the line, and she’d survive the end.

      “All right, yes,” she breathed, both brave and terrified.

      He pulled her in even more tightly. “Then I suggest we go upstairs immediately because it’s not your forehead I want to suck right now, and if we don’t move, I’m afraid I’ll drag you down to the floor and have my evil way with you right here.”

      She huffed out a desperate laugh. “Evil is fine by me.”

      He rubbed his cheek across the top of her head, and she felt him sigh even though she didn’t hear it. “Careful what you say, Romy.”