Page 24 of The List
“That depends,” I say. “Are you planning to get off with it or use it for neurological testing?”
She laughs, and I picture her there on the sofa thumbing through her laptop. “That’s what’s weird. I’m finding some of them listed under ‘medical supplies,’ and some listed under ‘novelty and more.’”
“Hang on, let me look.” I grab my iPad off the coffee table and pull up Amazon, joining her in the online quest for the perfect sex toy. I type in the keywords and find myself staring at a veritable cornucopia of sharp little pinwheels. “Wow. This is impressive. Did you notice they’ve got some categorized under ‘tools and home improvement,’ subcategory ‘hole punches’?”
“Good Lord,” Cassie says. “Let’s hope no one gets mixed up and sends their third grader to class with one of these in the school supplies box.”
I chuckle and continue flipping through reviews on one of the more popular implements. Something tickles my big toe, and I glance down to see a daddy longlegs spider scuttle across the Italian marble floor.
“Aaaarrh!” I bellow, jerking my feet up onto the couch. “Holy shit!”
“Simon? Are you okay?”
“Fuck!” I yelp, but the spider is gone. Jesus.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Simon?—”
“I’m fine, it’s okay,” I assure her. “I just saw a spider.”
She’s quiet a moment. “A spider?”
“Yes, a spider. A daddy longlegs.”
“You know they can’t bite, right?” She sounds amused, but at least she’s not laughing at me.
“I hate spiders, okay? I’ll get the gardener to call an exterminator?—”
“You have a gardener?”
Crap. A guy who works in a computer store wouldn’t have a gardener, would he? It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her right then. To explain about the career, the finances, the magazine articles that have made me unexpectedly famous in certain circles. The whole mess.
But that’s been the catalyst for screwing up every relationship I’ve ever had, and I’m not ready to sabotage what I’ve got going with Cassie right now.
“I’m joking about the gardener,” I mutter. “I’ll pick up a can of bug spray at Home Depot.” I drop back onto the sofa and pick up the iPad again, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “So back to the Wartenberg wheel. Are you looking at this one with the three rows of spikes?”
“Hang on, what’s the item number?”
I rattle it off, then wait for her to pull it up so we’re looking at the same page. I lean back against the sofa and wish she were here next to me, her hair brushing my arm as she leans over my lap to peer at the screen.
“Okay, I found it,” she says.
“Check out the second review down. The one titled, ‘You get what you pay for.’ See it?”
“Yeah.” She snorts. “He’s questioning whether it’s really stainless steel and suggesting you not use an autoclave to sterilize it.”
“Think that’s a medical professional or someone who’s really dedicated to cleanliness when it comes to sex toys?”
“If it’s the latter, I can’t imagine having sex with that guy,” she says. “He’d be checking the pillowcases for hair samples and whipping out the antibacterial spray every five minutes.”
I laugh, enjoying the easy banter with her as I scroll through more reviews on the device. “Here’s one titled, ‘Great product!’” I read. “It says, ‘everybody needs at least one.’ Think that’s someone who’s using it as a sex toy or a neurological device?”
“Sex toy,” Cassie decides. She’s quiet for a moment, and I picture her scrolling down the same page. I can’t decide if this is flirtation, a mild form of phone sex, or just a fun conversation. Either way, I’m enjoying myself.
“Here’s another review,” she says. “It’s titled. ‘Problem screw.’”
“Sounds unfortunate.”
“Right, but the review says, ‘Screw fell out after first use, but easy to repair. Just watch out for the screw.’ Think that’s a sex toy user or a medical user?”
