Page 56 of The List
So why do I keep glancing at my phone? We’re not in a relationship. We only have two more items on the list— the roleplay one, and the Post Hole Digger, which we never figured out the other night. In fact, we ended up making love slow and sweet in my bed, then falling asleep twined in each other’s arms.
Which does seem kind of relationshippy, now that I think about it. Is he thinking about it?
“Don’t you think so, Cassie?”
“Wha—what?”
I take a gulp of wine and force my attention back to my sisters. Missy is regarding me with an expectant look, and Lisa’s still holding out her phone.
“What?” I try again. “Yes, the napkin rings are very nice.”
Both sisters roll their eyes. “No,” Lisa asks. “We were talking about dresses for the rehearsal dinner. About what might look nice on you.”
“Me?”
Missy nods and pops a tiny crab puff in her mouth with the tips of her French-manicured fingers. She chews and swallows before speaking, the model of perfect manners. “And before you say it, no, we’re not making your dress out of plaid flannel and letting you wear your lumberjack boots.”
I resist the urge to glare at them, but I do resent the implication. Their suggestion that there’s Cassie, the manly chick who plays in the dirt, or Missy and Lisa, the proper ladies who can distinguish between eggshell and cream paper for their thank-you notes. Nothing in between.
“I’m fine with wearing a dress,” I tell them. “I actually wore one a few nights ago when Simon and I went out for dinner.”
At the mention of Simon, my sisters’ expressions shift from vaguely patronizing to something bordering on impressed. Lisa sidles close as she nibbles a shrimp. “So, are you and this guy serious?”
“Of course not.” My response is hasty, but my sisters smell blood in the water.
“Please,” Missy scoffs. “I see the look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re hooked.” She smirks and takes a sip of her wine. “The one that says this guy isn’t just one of your flings.”
I hate that her words send tiny spears of uncertainty into my chest. Am I hooked? I want to say no. I want to argue that Simon’s just a fling. It’s what we agreed, after all, and nothing’s been said to indicate otherwise.
“When are you seeing him again?” Lisa asks.
“I don’t know.” I try to keep my voice cool, but I’m not sure it’s working. I take another sip of wine. “We haven’t really connected for a couple days. We’ve both been traveling.”
“Where’d you say he went this weekend?” Missy asks.
“Some sort of work trip,” I tell her. “I’m not sure where. We didn’t really talk about it.”
I try not to let it bother me that Simon has seemed oddly tight-lipped lately. That he clammed up when I tried to probe for details about his job or his family or anything of a personal nature. Does he travel often for work? Does he have siblings or parents he visits? I have no idea.
“What kind of car does he drive?” Missy asks, giving me yet another question for which I have no answer.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “We took a limo to Ponderosa Resort.”
I’m hoping to distract them with that juicy detail, but it’s clear from Missy’s expression she’s undeterred. “Right, but you’ve gone out plenty of other times.”
Lisa sips her wine. “What did he drive when you went on dates before the trip?”
I shrug and grab a scallop off my sister’s plate. Realizing how little I actually know about the man I’ve been sleeping with is making me edgy.
“We usually hang out at my place,” I say. “Or take an Uber. We took my work truck to the mountains a couple weeks ago.”
My sisters exchange a look I recognize as silent judgment. Or not-so-silent, in Missy’s case. “Are you sure he even has a car?”
I roll my eyes to indicate this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, even though the words hit home. “I don’t know, Missy. Maybe he relies on public transportation. Would that be the worst thing in the world? The guy made me come my brains out in the spa at a luxury resort. Does it really matter what he drives?”
