Sunday mornings, Bill likes to read the newspaper. I watch as he neatly folds the paper into thirds, and I don’t know why, but it annoys the shit out of me. With each pass of his thumb to smooth the crease, my patience thins. On top of everything, I’d like to know who still reads an actual newspaper, anyway? Come on, Bill, time to move into the twenty-first century.

“Sweetie, isn’t this your friend?” Bill stretches the Sports section wide across the table.

My ears perk up at the question, and I lean forward in my chair to check out the picture. Sure enough, Jesse is front and center, looking incredible in dark navy jeans and a maroon Breckland Tigers t-shirt.

Jesse and I have seen each other twice since ESPresso and texted a handful of times. We agreed to be friends, but neither of us know how to proceed. Well, that’s not true. Jesse has done a great job of keeping me in the friend zone. He’s talked about his new job and how he became involved in coaching at a basketball camp for high-risk teens in North Carolina. The youth camp was somehow affiliated with Duke University, and because he made quite an impression on one of the assistant coaches, he received a recommendation for the Breckland position.

Jesse wanted to be closer to his mother (and although he didn’t say it aloud, I’m assuming to me, too) so he applied. With the help of Abigail, he practiced his interview skills, perfected his resume, and mingled with some of the current coaching staff and trainers. There was no way he’d get the head coaching job—he had far too little experience for that—but he was pretty much a shoe-in for an assistant position. He interviewed for both the bench coach and shooting coach slots.

While we talked a lot about Jesse’s career, when he asked about my job at LAMP I didn’t offer much because I knew how it looked. Bill’s a controlling partner in the firm where I work and I’m dating him. Jesse will draw the obvious (and accurate) conclusion: I was promoted from secretary to a full-time interior design specialist due to nepotism. What’s not so easy to prove is that I keep my job based on talent. I work just as hard as, if not harder than, my colleagues to prove my worth.

“Riley?” Bill shakes the paper a little. “Jesse Collins? Says here he’s going to be the new Bench Coach at Breckland U.”

“Hmm,” I murmur as though this were news to me, when in reality I found out three days ago when Jesse did. He had texted me with the good news immediately after his meeting.

“How do you know him, again?” Bill’s question is innocent enough; he’s merely curious, yet it hits me like a punch to the gut. He scrunches his nose. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I’m quick to agree and snatch up our coffee mugs. “Just tired.”

His glances at his watch. “My video conference doesn’t start until ten.” That’s another thing that irritates me. He works constantly, even on Sundays. I can’t lie around in my pajamas all day and marathon-watch Netflix because I feel like a goddamn slacker. His voice turns sensual. “Let’s go back to bed.”

My stomach clenches, not in excitement, but in trepidation. Sex with Bill isn’t so much a pleasurable experience as it is an obligation. We (or I should say, I) lack physical chemistry. That tear-your-clothes-off, have-to-have-you-naked-now-or-I’ll-die attraction. I had hoped it would build over time, but it’s just not happening.

And I have a major confession. Are you sitting down? Good. In the entire time that Bill and I have been sleeping together, I’ve faked every single orgasm. Every. One. I long stopped trying to break Jesse’s curse, and at this point, I think I could win a freaking Oscar for my performance in the bedroom.

“What do you say?” Bill waggles his eyebrows. “You seem tense. I think you could use a little sexual healing.”

A nervous chuckle escapes my lips. “Next time.” I pat his stomach as I pass. “I’m meeting Liza in a half hour.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He makes a face. “But tonight you’re all mine.”

I walk toward the bathroom. That’s what I’m afraid of.

* * *

“It’s wrong, isn’t it?” I question, as I pour more syrup onto the thick stack of pancakes on my plate.

“What exactly?” Liza spears a sausage link. “The fact that you have a secret friendship with your ex that you refuse to tell your current boyfriend about? Or that you’re still in love with said ex?” My eyes widen, but she continues, “Because they’re both wrong.”

I groan. She’s one hundred percent right, but for once I wish she’d indulge me. I haven’t done anything wrong. Technically. Maybe I did see Jesse a few times, exchanged a few texts, but it’s strictly platonic. We’re re-kindling our friendship, not our romance.

And if you believe that, Riley, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.

“He’s my friend.”

Liza raises her eyebrows. “Who you’d like to fuck.”

“Liza!” I scold. “Keep your voice down. There are two kids sitting right behind me.”

She rolls her eyes. “If that’s the worst they hear.” She takes another bite of her omelet. “You know you’re playing with fire.”

I sip my chocolate milk. “He’s moving back to Cardinal’s Cay, Liza. It’s a small town. It’s not like I’m going to be able to avoid him forever. Besides, we were friends long before we ever…” My voice trails off.

“Seeing him…at the grocery store, say, is very different from meeting him for coffee or texting every day.”

I narrow my eyes. “We don’t text every day.”

“Yet.” She meets my gaze. “You do what you want. You asked my opinion and you got it.”

I nod my head. Liza has made it very clear that she thinks Bill is the proper choice—he’s rich (not that material things matter to me), he’s kind, smart, giving, and has never hurt me. On paper, I agree with Liza. But love isn’t only about tally marks and common sense. Sometimes it’s messy and complicated. Then again, maybe I have no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.

“When does your plane leave?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

The subject change works because Liza’s smile brightens. “Friday at 11:00 a.m.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Nervous. Scared. Excited.” She ticks her fingers. “Moving across the country to be with your boyfriend is…”

“Romantic?” I supply.

“Some people would say stupid.”

“Some people are idiots.”

Liza chuckles. “The timing is right. My company has the open position in the accounting department in the Tempe office. Scott’s lease is up this month.” She glances at the picture of her and Scott on her phone. “It’s meant to be.”

“It definitely is.” I push my plate to the side. “What am I going to do here without you?”

“I think the question is who will you do here without me?”

I kick her under the table.

She yelps. “Ow!”

“Oops,” I say, unapologetically. “My foot slipped.”

“You bitch!” She reaches for the check the waitress placed on our table several minutes ago. “Forget having a free place to crash on the west coast! You, my dear, can stay in a hotel!”

I shrug. “I’m sure with Bill’s real estate connections, I’ll be able to find something.”

She smiles. “Be careful what you wish for. Knowing Bill, he’ll buy you an entire freaking building just for when you visit.”

I laugh, but inside I know there’s a vein of truth to her words. Bill’s presents can be over-the-top. Like the one-carat stud diamond earrings he bought me for our six-month anniversary. I didn’t know anyone apart from high school students who celebrated six-month anniversaries, but that’s beside the point.

“You watch,” Liza says, as she throws a twenty on the table, “you’ll be engaged before me.”

My eyes widen in panic, my breath catches in my throat, but then Liza laughs and the air whooshes from my lungs.

She’s only joking, Ry. Calm the fuck down.

I grab my purse, place another twenty on top of hers, and follow her to the parking lot.

She carries on, oblivious to my mini panic attack. “So, I’ll see you at the Bon Voyage party on Wednesday?”

“Yeah.” I unlock my car. “Bill’s parents are flying in this week, so I’m not sure what our plans are exactly, but I’ll be there.”

“Look at you, spending quality time with your future in-laws!”

My mouth gapes open, but she laughs and sticks her tongue out.

“Okay, you really need to stop that,” I scold.

She chuckles. “Sure thing.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. “I’m going. I have some last-minute packing to finish.”

“Text me later,” I say, as I open my car door. “I’m here if you need help.”

“I may just take you up on that…” Her voice trails off.

“Want me to come over now?” My voice is eager, and I tell myself that I’m not avoiding Bill or trying to distract myself from texting Jesse.

Liza’s my friend. My best friend. And she’s moving away in five days. Of course I want to spend time with her.

She quirks a brow. “Really? But you hate packing.”

“I’ll make an exception.”

“Okay.” She nods her head. “But no complaining.” Her eyes narrow as she adds, “And no crying.”

“Yes, boss,” I agree, as I get into my car and start the engine. “Be there in ten.”