Page 30 of The List
I let that word hover there while my sisters titter and gasp and pretend to be horrified. Deep down, I wonder if they’re jealous. If they covet my freewheeling, vixen life, or if they’re as perplexed by it as I am by their world of garden parties and wine clubs.
Maybe it’s a little of both.
“Tell us everything,” Lisa says, skirting around the sofa and easing herself into the middle of it. “Now that I’m getting married, I’ll have to live vicariously through your exploits.”
Missy laughs and settles onto the sofa beside her. “Our little wild child.” She flashes me a look that’s equal parts fondness and amusement. Like I’m an oddly-feathered exotic animal who wandered into the middle of one of their garden parties.
I pause for a moment, wondering how long I should keep up this charade.
Then I remember it’s not a charade. For once in my life, in all these years of playing the wild sister, I actually have something real to dish.
“Well,” I begin, flopping onto the loveseat and crossing my legs in my best imitation of a saucy minx. My sisters lean forward, eager to catch every juicy detail. “Let me tell you about last Friday.”
Chapter 9
Simon
So, here’s the thing.
I haven’t exactly told Cassie yet that I’m loaded, and I’m pretty sure that makes me an ass.
It’s been three weeks since we met, and she still thinks I’m just a computer repair guy with a knack for kinky sex on a fitness ball. She has no idea I own even a single Hot Swap, not to mention the whole damn chain of shops.
I swear it started out innocently. I got to be just a normal guy, taking a regular girl for the ride of her life down the Fucket List of her dreams. For once there was no talk about my money. No wondering if that’s the only reason she’s spending time with me. I love how I feel around Cassie, how she looks at me like I invented sex.
That’ll all come to a screeching halt when she finds out who I am.
So yeah, I’ve decided to keep up the ruse. And she gets to pretend I’m some anonymous stranger, forgettable, but fun, at least for a few more weeks.
It’s easier this way.
We’re not in it long-term, so it’s fine. Right?
But it does complicate things a little when it comes to fulfilling some of the things on Cassie’s Fucket List.
“I’m not sure about this place,” Cassie whispers, glancing around the dimly-lit bar. “This doesn’t seem like a bar where I’m going to find a girl to kiss.”
Her uncertainty is understandable. We’re sharing a table at Olive or Twist. A great spot to meet with investors or take a few high-performing Hot Swap team members out for a swanky night on the town, but it may not have been a wise choice for fulfilling item number eight on Cassie’s list.
Soft jazz fills the air, and amber-tinted candles flicker on every horizontal surface. Everyone here is clad head-to-toe in black, and a guy at the bar just ordered a martini requiring more detailed instructions than my last business plan.
It’s possible I’m not the best guy to choose a venue for girl-on-girl seduction.
Cassie sips her Rose City Martini and looks nervous.
“That woman over there seems nice.” The second I say the words, I realize this is not the attribute to highlight in a woman Cassie’s hoping to lock lips with this evening. Lucky for me, Cassie is too polite to point that out.
“She’s pretty.”
Cassie takes another sip of her drink and studies the blonde at the opposite end of the bar. It’s true the other woman is pretty—high cheekbones and a fitted black dress that leaves her shoulders bare—but she’s got nothing on Cassie. While the blonde is cool and racehorse thin, Cassie is warm and lush beside me in a knee-length purple sweater dress that dips low in in front and exposes the tops of her breasts. I can’t stop staring at them, which probably isn’t helping our cause right now.
“I don’t know about her.” Cassie glances away from the blonde. “She looks like she’s meeting someone.”
Sure enough, the blonde glances at her watch. As if on cue, a dark-haired guy in a sport jacket comes strolling in and plants a kiss on her cheek before sliding onto the barstool beside her.
“Okay, not her.” I glance around the bar, trying to find someone else who looks like a good match for Cassie’s plan. While I may have picked wrong on the venue, I can’t say I mind spending this extra time with Cassie. We’ve chosen a small table in the corner, opting to share the upholstered bench seat instead of sitting across from each other. In theory, it was to give us both a good view of the bar, but I had other reasons. Cassie’s bare thigh brushing mine under the table is one of them.
“How do I even do this?” she whispers, and I try not to get distracted by the closeness of her mouth to my ear. “Like, do I just walk up and say, ‘wanna make out?’”
