Hendrix bit back a sigh. They’d been over this. Looked like they were going over it again. “The pact means something to me. And to Jonas. We’re still tight, no matter what.”
Jonas, Warren and Hendrix had met at Duke University, forming a friendship during a group project along with a fourth student, Marcus Powell. They’d had a lot of fun, raised a lot of hell together in the quintessential college experience—until Marcus had gotten his heart tangled up over a woman who didn’t deserve his devotion. She’d been a traitorous witch of a cheerleader who liked toying with a man’s affections more than she’d liked Marcus. Everyone had seen she was trouble. Except their friend.
He’d grown paler and more wasted away the longer she didn’t give him the time of day and eventually, his broken heart had overruled his brain and somehow suicide had become his answer. Shell-shocked and embittered, the three surviving friends had vowed to never let a woman drive them to such lows. They’d formed a pact, refusing to fall in love under any circumstances.
Hell, that had been a given for Hendrix, pact or not. Love wasn’t something he even thought much about because he never got close enough to a woman to develop any kind of tender feelings, let alone anything deeper.
But the pact—that was sacred. He’d had little in his life that made him feel like he belonged and his friendship with Jonas and Warren meant everything to him. He’d die before violating the terms of their agreement.
“If the pact is so important, then I don’t understand why you’d risk breaking it with marriage,” Warren countered and the bitterness lacing his tone sliced at Hendrix far more severely than he’d have expected.
They both glanced up as Jonas joined them, beers in hand. “Thought I’d find you two going at it if I looked hard enough. I’m the one you want to yell at, Warren. Not this joker.”
Hendrix took the longneck from his friend’s hand and gave Warren a pointed look until the other man sighed, accepting his own beer. No one was confused about the significance. It was a peace offering because Jonas had already broken the pact by falling in love with Viv. Warren had not taken it well. The three of them were still figuring out how to not be bachelor pals any longer, and how to not be at odds over what Warren viewed as Jonas’s betrayal.
Hendrix just wanted everything to be on an even keel again so he didn’t get a panicky feeling at the back of his throat when he thought of losing the one place where he felt fully accepted no matter what—inside the circle of his friends.
“If it makes you feel better,” Hendrix said after a long swallow of his brew, “the odds of me falling in love with Roz are zero. We’re not even sleeping together.”
Jonas choked on his own beer. “Please. Is this April Fools’ Day and I missed it?”
“No, really.” Hendrix scowled as both his friends started laughing. “Why is that funny?”
“You’ve finally met the one woman you can’t seduce and you’re marrying her?” Warren clapped Hendrix on the back, still snickering.
“Shut up,” he growled. Why did that have to be the one thing that got his buddy out of his snit? “Besides, I can go without sex.”
“Right.” Jonas drew the word out to about fourteen syllables, every one of them laden with sarcasm. “And I can pass as Norwegian.”
Since Jonas was half-Korean, his point was clear. And Hendrix didn’t appreciate his friend’s doubt, never mind that he’d been angling for a way to kibosh the no-sex part of his agreement with Roz. “I don’t have to explain myself to you guys.”
Jonas sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Well, I guess it’s a fair point that this is a fake marriage, so maybe you’re pretty smart to skip sex in order to avoid confusion. I of all people can understand that.”
“This marriage is not fake,” Hendrix corrected. “Your marriage was fake because you’re a moron who thought it was better to live together and just pretend you’re hot and heavy. I’m not a moron. Roz and I will have a real marriage, with plenty of unfake hot and heavy.”
Especially the honeymoon part. He was already glancing at travel websites for ideas on places he could take his bride where they’d have no interruptions during a weeklong smorgasbord where Roz was the only thing on the menu.
Jonas raised his eyebrows. “You’re trying to tell me you’re waiting until marriage before you sleep together? That’s highly unconventional for anyone, let alone you.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Jonas how late Hendrix had been to his wedding. Roz had been the reason, and these yokels were lucky he’d showed up at all. It had been sheer hell to peel himself out of Roz’s bed to make it to the chapel before the nuptials were over.
But something held him back from flinging his escapades in his friends’ faces. Maybe it had something to do wit
h their assumption that he was a horndog who couldn’t keep it in his pants, which had frankly been Roz’s assumption, too. Was that all there was to him in everyone’s mind? Always on the lookout for the next woman to nail? There was a lot more complexity to his personality than that and he was suddenly not thrilled to learn he’d overshadowed his better qualities with his well-deserved reputation.
“That’s me. Unconventional,” he agreed easily.
And now he had an ironclad reason to stick to his agreement...to prove to himself that he could stay out of a woman’s bed.
* * *
Roz’s father had smiled at her tonight more times than he had in the past five years. As much as she’d craved his approval, all this cheer made her nervous. Paul Carpenter ran a billion-dollar furniture enterprise, with manufacturing outlets and retail stores under his command as far away as the Philippines and as close as within walking distance. He rarely smiled, especially not at Roz.
“I’ve always liked this house,” her father commented to her out of the blue as they found themselves at the small minibar at the same time.
“I think Hendrix mentioned it’s on the Raleigh Historical Society’s list as one of the oldest homes in Oakwood. It’s really beautiful.”
Small talk with her father about her fiancé’s house. It was nearly surreal. They didn’t chat often, though that could be because she rarely gave him a chance. After years of conversations laden with her father’s heavy sighs and pointed suggestions, she preferred their communication to be on a need-only basis.