Page 51 of The List
“It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
Cassie polishes off her last bite of pizza and wipes her hands on a napkin. She turns the laptop toward her and places her fingers on the keyboard. I can see her sisters must’ve talked her into a manicure today, and I feel a twinge of sadness. It looks nice and all, but I’ve grown fond of Cassie’s natural fingernails. No sharp claws or red lacquer. Just Cassie, perfect the way she is.
“Thanks again for fixing this,” she says as Google flickers to life on the screen. “It’s run much faster since you worked your magic.”
“My pleasure,” I say. “I only regret your loss of the letter X.”
“Didn’t I tell you? It suddenly started working the other day. It was the craziest thing.”
Maybe not that crazy. Wanting to help her out—but knowing her frugality would never allow her to buy a new computer—I rebuilt the machine a few days ago when Cassie went shopping for bridesmaid dresses with her sisters.
If I can’t shower her with expensive gifts, I can at least do that.
I say none of this as I watch Cassie type the words, “Post hole digger sex position” into the Google images search bar. The screen flickers and row upon row of flesh-filled photos appears.
“Yikes.” She stares at the screen for a second, then hits the back button. “I can’t unsee that.”
I nod and pick up another slice of pizza. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what that man was doing to the tractor.”
“Gross,” she says. “I must’ve missed that one. I was too busy trying not to look at the one with all the mayonnaise.”
“I don’t think that was mayonnaise.”
Cassie makes a face and taps at the keyboard again. “Maybe I should switch to a text search.”
“Good idea.”
She toggles to the Google search bar, but the screen flickers a low-battery warning. Before she can say anything else, the screen fades to black.
“Damn,” she mutters. “I meant to plug it in earlier, but I left the charger cable at my office.”
“It’s okay, I have my iPad.” I reach for the ratty-looking backpack that’s held all my important gear since my college years. I always meant to trade it in for a fancy briefcase, but that hasn’t happened. Probably never will. My mom bought me this backpack my freshman year at Stanford, and I’m kind of attached to it.
I pull the iPad out and set it on the coffee table while Cassie studies the backpack.
“I was wondering what you had in there,” Cassie says.
“You thought it might be an arsenal of sex toys?”
“One could hope.”
I grin and flip open the case on my iPad, then hit the power button. The screen flickers to life, and I click the Google app before handing it to Cassie. “Here. Knock yourself out. You mind if I grab something to drink?”
“Please do. Sorry I didn’t offer.”
“No worries,” I call as I stand up and head toward the kitchen. “You got the pizza.”
“There’s a pinot noir open on the counter,” she calls. “There should be some beer in the fridge, or you can grab Coke if you feel like it.”
“Can I get you something?” I call back.
“A glass of the wine would be great. Thanks, Simon!”
“No problem.”
As I locate the glasses and pour a little wine in each one, it occurs to me how cozy we’ve become. In just a few short weeks we’ve gone from strangers to fuck buddies to— hell, we’re still just fuck buddies. But we’re fuck buddies who finish each other’s sentences. Fuck buddies who make each other laugh and make each other come our brains out on a regular basis.
But still just fuck buddies.
