Page 13 of The List
He gives an idle wave at the screen, and the tip of his finger grazes the words I kissed a girl.
I try the single-eyebrow lift he gave me, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I have a facial tic. “What part of girl-on-girl action makes you think I’m conservative?” I ask.
“The fact that you haven’t already crossed these things off your list,” he says. “The fact that you made a list at all instead of just going out and sowing your wild oats.”
He’s got me there.
“For the record,” he says, “I’m sort of over one-night-stands. And as we’ve already established, I’m not interested in the whole relationship train wreck.”
Interesting. He calls it a train wreck, I call it a shit-show. It’s clear we’re on the same page as far as relationships go. And in other ways.
I feel a smile starting to spread across my face, and he must read exactly what I’m thinking. “We’re compatible in bed,” he says. “So it seems likely we’ll be able to fulfill your list to our mutual satisfaction.”
“You make it sound so sexy.”
He laughs then leans down and plants a kiss on my shoulder. “I’ll also admit I like a good challenge. Some of the things on this list fall into that category.”
“Which ones?”
He flashes me a grin, but doesn’t say anything. I realize he’s been doing most of the talking. I probably owe him something.
“I want to be spanked,” I say. At his mild look of alarm, I hurry to clarify. “Not right this second. I’m answering your question from earlier. About whether I want to do the spanking and hair pulling, or if I want those things done to me. It’s the latter.”
“I was hoping that was the case,” he says. “I think we’re going to get along beautifully. So, what do you say?”
I think about his proposal. I picture myself doing all those things on the Fucket List with him, with Simon, with this stunning example of masculinity sitting here naked in my bed. He smiles, and something in my chest unspools.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
Chapter 5
Simon
“Thank you, Simon.” My kid sister beams as she holds up the bright purple sweatshirt I’ve just given her, and part of me breaks inside.
She’s so fucking happy over a goddamn sweatshirt. Happy about everything, when three-quarters of the people on this planet would weep at the thought of being in Junie’s shoes.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her. “I know how much you love purple.”
“I do. And I like the kangaroo pocket in the front.”
She pulls the sweatshirt on over her head, and my brain flashes back to Cassie wearing a hoodie like this one. Everything’s making me think of her these days. Piles of dirt, for chrissakes. I’m seeing her later today, and I’m trying to pretend those aren’t goosebumps of anticipation rippling up my arms.
“It looks great on you,” I tell Junie as I help her straighten out the shoulders. “You can wear it when we go on our trip in a few weeks.”
“We’re going to the beach.”
I nod, even though it wasn’t a question. I know she’s looking for reassurance. For affirmation that’s she’s remembered this detail correctly. “That’s right,” I tell her. “The Oregon Coast.”
“And we’re visiting the graveyard,” she says. “To see Mom and Dad.”
“Right again.”
Her expression is somber, and I want to punch every single person who ever suggested someone with Down syndrome isn’t capable of retaining information or processing emotion just like everyone else. Fuck those guys.
“It’s going to be a fun trip,” I tell her.
“Is Kaitlyn coming?”
