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from her before she could ask for another.
    “I seriously doubt that. But just so we’re clear on all our options, why don’t we write them down.” He wanted her to remember this conversation tomorrow.
    “Oh! Like a contract. Good idea. And we should have it notarized so there’s no weaseling out of it.”
    He was halfway to grabbing a sheet of paper when her words stopped him. “You want to make our agreement formal?”
    “Well, yeah. Sure. Why not? You like binding contracts, don’t you?” She giggled. “I know for sure you like binding.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
    “You want to put binding in our binding contract?”
    She slapped her knee, wide-eyed. “We totally should!”
    He sat back down next to her with a pad of paper and a pen and started writing. “So binding is option number one. What’s option number two?”
    “No, no. Scratch that out. Number one should be the option that says neither one of us doesn’t get any other options. Or we’re the other’s only option. No other optioning. Or something like that. Otherwise I’m not havin’ any kind of options with you.” She shook her finger at him, then held up three fingers. “Two can be binding. Oh! And we should make three or is it four…I can’t remember…but it should definitely be that thing you do with your teeth and your tongue right here.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed her whole body.
    He started writing, jotting down all of the options she wanted, adding a few of his own with her permission. When they were done, they had a five-page list of some of the most inventive sexual activities ever compiled.
    “Okay. Okay,” she said. “I’ve got one more. This is the last one. I promise.”
    Somehow when he wasn’t looking she’d gotten ahold of the whiskey bottle and refilled her glass…two…no, maybe three times.
    “And what would that be?” He really couldn’t believe it. She’d outdone anything his imagination could come up with by yards. He couldn’t wait to see what she came up with next.
    “We need a…” she hiccupped, “…an optional option.”
    “An optional option. What exactly is that?”
    “It’s an option that says that all of the options are completely optional.” She waved her hands around. “Optionally speaking of course.”
    “That goes without saying.”
    She snorted. “Right. That’s what I thought. Didn’t turn out that way.” She tapped the page with her finger. “Write it down. I want it in writing this time. Op-tion-al.”
    He stared at her for a moment, not quite believing what she’d inadvertently told him. What in the hell had her marriage to that asshole been like? Had he forced her to have sex with him? How bad had things gotten for her?
    He cleared his throat, which had become inexplicably clogged. “How about: Everything in this option agreement is absolutely and completely optional, and either party can pull their option at any time during any option?”
    “Oohhh. That’s good.”
    He wrote it down. “Now what?”
    “Now we sign. Wait! No. We need a notoriety to make it all officially official.”
    “You mean a notary.”
    “Right.” She squinted up at him. “Isn’t that what I said?”
    “Close enough. Let me make a phone call.”
    Twenty minutes later they had a signed and notarized option agreement thanks to Cal’s business connections. It was going to cost him a couple of hundred dollars extra for the late-night service, but if it made Lucy feel secure in marrying him, then it was money well spent.
    He was still trying to wrap his head around what Lucy had let slip. What had she been through in the past seventeen months? Whatever it was had nearly broken her spirit. He was going to have to be extra gentle, extra careful to gain back her trust and make her feel secure again.
    He returned from showing the notary out to find Lucy passed out on the couch next to Poppy. He stood in the doorway a moment, watching them, hardly able to believe they