Page 91 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

I wake with a start when Lucas wipes a damp cloth over my forehead.

“How’d you get in here?”

Lucas presses a glass of orange juice into my hand and gives me what I presume are two ibuprofen. The clock tells me I’ve slept for less than an hour.

“I texted, called, and knocked. When I didn’t get an answer, I was worried you’d run off again.” He looks away, and I wince as he picks me up, moves me gently into my bedroom. “I told the hotel staff that, as your fiancé, I was worried because you haven’t been feeling well.”

“They believed you?”

Even in the dark, I see the glimmer of a smile, a flash of white teeth.

“A concierge came with me, just in case. But when I approached you the first time, you called my name, grabbed my hand when I came closer. After that, he was happy to fetch painkillers and give us privacy.”

I feel a slight flush against my cheeks because I can absolutely believe that, after years of pining for Lucas, I called for him, knowing he was near.

“May I?”

I open my eyes to see that he’s asking whether he can sit on the bed beside me, and I nod, in too much pain to deny myself the small pleasure of his nearness.

Lucas reaches for me, his strong hands kneading my shoulders and working their way up my neck to the base of my head. I turn to give him better access and can’t stop the moan of pleasure that escapes my lips.

“Are these still common?”

They’d started that first summer, after Yellowstone Club. Painful headaches that seemed to never go away. “Less so,” I admit.

He continues kneading until the pain fades a little. I’m close enough to smell his soap and the faintest tinge of sweat from earlier in the day. I breathe it all in, trying to imprint the memory.

“Thank you.”

Lucas’s hands are slower now, still gently massaging. “Remember what used to work well?”

I blush, because of course I remember.

I read online (where else?) that some people believed sex alleviated the pain from cluster headaches. The hypotheses varied: It provided a distraction, it released endorphins. My roommate had moved off campus, granting me an unexpected single, and Lucas and I had discovered that, especially if I took painkillers first, by the time I was blissed out from sex, the ibuprofen had kicked in enough for me to nap my way through the worst of it.

Because Lucas remembers that I’m more light-sensitive during these episodes, he’s closed the curtains; there’s a mere sliver of fading sunset seeping through.

“Are you suggesting we’re still close enough to replace painkillers with orgasms?”

“Maybe.”

I suck in a breath because it’s not like Lucas to be cruel, to not think about the potential consequences of his words. “That’s not funny, Lucas.”

“I’m not joking, Lorelai.”

“You want to be fuck buddies.” It’s difficult to keep the disbelief out of my voice, hard to imagine how Lucas went from college virgin to casual propositions.

“Yes.” Lucas runs a hand along my shoulder, still massaging, and I try not to think about how my heart plummets, that my disappointment tastes like bile. He moves my hair to the side before continuing. “If by fuck buddies”—a pause, because Lucas apparently still doesn’t curse—“you mean monogamous partners building a life and future together.”

I turn toward him, dislodging his hand when I try to sit up. I have a residual headache, I’m tangled under my sheets, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m also experiencing auditory hallucinations.

Because Lucas sounded serious.

“You want a future with me?”

Lucas tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, trailing a finger down to my jade pendant. “I’ve always wanted a future with you. I’ve been pretty honest about that from the beginning.” His hand slips under one strap of my sundress, smoothing the skin underneath. “I would have preferred we resolve our somewhat complicated past, talk things through, but I’m not opposed to focusing on the future.” He dips his head to kiss me at the juncture of my neck and shoulder as my hands reach for him, clutching helplessly at his shirt.

Of all the questions swirling in my mind, I can only formulate one single, all-encompassing word. “Why?”