Dead to Him on Mondays

Summary

I lost a party game on my boyfriend’s twenty-seventh birthday.

Connor leaned back against the plush velvet of the booth, a slow, calculated smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He swirled the amber bourbon in his glass, letting the ice clink before he spoke.

"Your forfeit, June," he said smoothly. "Give me one day off a week. For twenty-four hours every Monday, we don’t speak, we don’t text, and we don’t see each other. We’re complete strangers."

I froze, the laughter around the table fading into a dull, uneasy buzz.