Page 26 of The List
“That they are.”
I wait to see if she’ll volunteer more. If she’ll offer further intimate details about her life or her relationship with the siblings. I hate how curious I am. How much I’m enjoying getting to know her. I know I need to keep a rein on things, to keep this whole thing in the ballpark of a sexual relationship. It can’t be more than that. We’ve both agreed.
But still, I wonder about her. I want to know more.
“How about another time for the pokey wheelie thing,” I suggest.
“Good idea. A pokey wheelie rain check.”
“Actually, what would you say to a date?”
“A date?” She sounds skeptical, and I hope I haven’t crossed some line in our agreement to keep things purely sexual.
“Not a date, exactly,” I tell her. “I just think we should sit down together and make a plan for the rest of The List.”
“Oh. That sounds smart.”
“We could even keep our clothes on. Maybe grab a bite to eat or something.”
“Okay.” I can’t tell from her tone if she likes the idea or hates it. But when she speaks again, I hear the smile in her voice. “I’d like that. I’d like it a lot.”
So do I. And that scares the shit out of me.
Chapter 8
Cassie
This is the weirdest business meeting in the history of business meetings.
I’m sitting with Simon—whose last name, embarrassingly, I do not recall—eating dry-rubbed pork ribs, smoked fried chicken, beef belly, and huge mounds of collard greens and potato salad.
It was my idea to hit this hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint on North Williams. The food is excellent at The People’s Pig, and I wanted to avoid any sense that this is a date-date. I’m not looking for a relationship and neither is he, so I’m pretty sure a restaurant with “pig” in the name says “we’re fuck buddies” and not “I want to marry you and have your babies.”
That’s just a guess.
There’s another reason I picked this place. I get the sense Simon doesn’t have much money. He’s always walking everywhere, and I’m not even sure he owns a car. I can’t imagine his job pays all that well, so it seems wise to keep things casual and cheap.
As I pick up another rib and smile at him across the battered wooden table, I pat myself on the back for choosing the right locale. This feels like the perfect spot to discuss strategy for the rest of the Fucket List.
It’s strange to call it that now. It started as a way to remember all the lies I’d told—to commit them to memory for retelling at the bachelorette party. But now…I don’t know. Is it weird that it took me this long to realize all those naughty fibs were really my secret sex fantasies?
“Tell me about item number eight,” Simon says.
I wipe sauce off my chin with the back of my hand and take a sip of my sweet tea. “Item number eight,” I repeat. “Was that the roleplay one?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, that’s number nine. How is it that I know your list better than you do?”
“Because I was drunk when I wrote it, and it’s comprised entirely of fibs I kinda wish I’d never told?”
“Do you really? Wish you’d never told them, I mean?”
I hesitate a moment, not sure how to respond. If I’d never made up all those sex stories, I wouldn’t be sitting here now eating barbecue with a hot guy whose handprint I swear I can still feel on my ass. That would be unfortunate.
“There was probably a better way to convince my sisters I wasn’t boring or pathetic,” I say at last.
“Fair enough.” He sips his own soft drink, then gives me a thoughtful look. “Still, it seems like you put a lot of thought into each experience. Even if it was all made up.”
I shrug, not sure how much to reveal. “I guess so. I mean, some of them are a little cliché.”
