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“I know.”
“So I’m going to stop.” She made herself look up. “I want this. You. Not for one night. I don’t know what it looks like yet. I’ve never known what it looks like. But I don’t want it to be casual either. And I’m not going to pretend anything on Monday. Or any other day.” She held Carly’s gaze. “And if something’s wrong, I’ll tell you. Even if it’s the most embarrassing thing in the world. Even if I have to say it into a pillow.”
She paused. Carly watched her decide something.
“And since we’re doing honesty,” Lauren said, “there’s something you should know. So you don’t find it out from Beth by way of Jenna by way of Paige.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. It’s just… history.” Lauren turned her hands over on the table, palms up. “When I went back to City for that season, it wasn’t for the football. There was a woman. She played for them. She asked me to come back, and I came, because that’s what I did back then. Whatever she asked.”
“Beth said something,” Carly admitted. “Back in October. About an ex. I told her I wasn’t remotely interested.”
“Were you?”
“Desperately.”
Lauren laughed, then sobered. “It went on for two years. She’d end it, and then she’d text. Never enough to be together. Just enough that I didn’t leave. Miss you. Thinking of you. One last night, and then another last night, and another. Paige nearly had me sectioned.” She shook her head. “I thought that was what being wanted felt like. Someone keeping you on the hook. I genuinely didn’t know there was any other kind.”
Lauren looked down at her hands. “She texted me again. A few weeks ago. The day you said you’d figure something out.”
“And?”
“And I blocked her.” Lauren met her eyes. “I’m not telling you so you’ll think I’m brave. It didn’t feel brave. It felt like nothing. I’m telling you because I worked out what the difference is.” She gestured at the table between them, at Carly’s empty mug, at the two of them sitting there like a pair of negotiators. “Being kept isn’t the same as being wanted. Being wanted is someone sitting at your kitchen table, giving you terms.”
It was the most honest thing anyone had said to her in a long time. Carly could see what it had cost: the flush on Lauren’s cheekbones, her hands open on the table, and not once looking away.
“Okay,” Carly said.
“Okay?”
“Okay. Agreed. Terms accepted.” Carly smiled. “No signature required.”
Lauren’s shoulders dropped an inch.
“One more thing,” Carly said.
“Oh God. There’s a clause seven.”
“Can we keep it between us for a bit? Until after Christmas.” She looked at the table. “My dad’s just moved. Samantha’s… Samantha. Jenna will want to throw a party. I’d like one thing that’s just mine for a week or two, before everyone has an opinion about it.”
Lauren reached across the table and put her hand over Carly’s.
“Jenna will know by Boxing Day,” she said. “You know that.”
“Then we’ll hold out until Boxing Day.”
“I can do Boxing Day.” Lauren’s thumb moved over Carly’s knuckles. “I can do pretty much anything you want, actually. That’s the frightening part.”
Carly turned her hand over under Lauren’s and laced their fingers together.
“Come here,” she said.
Lauren came. She kissed Carly across the corner of the table first, awkwardly, the edge of it digging into both their hips, and then properly, standing, Carly’s back against the fridge and a magnet shaped like a football clattering to the tiles. Lauren’s hands were in her hair, her mouth tasted of mint, and Carly forgot entirely that she’d ever had terms. Berkeley lifted his head from the doorway, assessed the situation, and put it back down again.
Halfway down the hall, walking backwards with her hands in Carly’s jacket, Lauren broke the kiss and grinned. The old grin.
“I should warn you,” Lauren said, “I’m told I’m quite good at this.”
