by Tawna Fenske
“And it’s our treat,” Missy says. “For your early birthday present.”
“Wow,” I say, taken aback by their generosity. “That’s really sweet. I’m touched.”
“Excellent!” Missy claps her hands together. “We can get pedicures together and maybe do a little shopping to get you some decent clothes. Something that doesn’t go with work boots.”
Lisa beams and nods in agreement. “Maybe a pretty sleeveless dress. Now that you have the workout ball, maybe you’ll get toned enough that you’ll want to let your arms show.”
I resist the urge to bristle, or to point out that some women have more pressing priorities than how their triceps look in a cocktail dress. The jab that maybe wasn’t even a jab leaves me edgy, and I find myself resorting to a familiar line of defense.
Leaning back against my sofa table, I fold my arms over my chest. “Did I tell you about this new guy I’m sleeping with?”
They give a scandalized gasp, which is exactly what I was aiming for. I may not be the sort of girly-girl my sisters want me to be, but I can damn sure show them I’m more than grubby work boots and dirty fingernails.
“Another man?” Lisa asks. “Honestly, Cassie.”
But she’s smiling when she says it. She steps a little closer, and her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper that’s completely unnecessary considering we’re the only three people in my house.
“Tell us all about him,” Lisa murmurs. “What’s he like?”
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” I rattle off before realizing even if it’s a cliché, that’s Simon to a tee. “And hot. Really hot. Definitely into—experimentation.”
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 Nine
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 that way.
We’re not in this 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?’”
“Actually, that’s not a bad plan. You could just explain that it’s a dare or a bet or something. I’m sure there’d be plenty of women who’d be game.”
She shoots me a dubious look. “Show me how it’s done.”
“What?”
“Go pick up a woman and show me how it’s done.”
I take a sip of my whiskey sour and pretend to assess the scene. The only woman here that I really want to kiss is sitting beside me. That’s not helpful. “It’s different for guys.”
“How? I’d think it might be easier. You have the whole heteronormativity thing working in your favor.” She frowns. “The fact that I just used an eight-syllable word might be part of my problem.”
I grin and give her knee a soft squeeze under the table. “Trust me, it’s not a problem. A beautiful woman who’s also smart? That’s really fucking hot.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you.”
“So, you’re not going to show me how to pick up a woman?”
“I don’t think that’ll help you here.”
“Why not?”
I fold my hands around my glass and try to think of a way to explain it that doesn’t make me sound like a big chickenshit. “If a guy you don’t know comes up to you in a bar and asks you to make out with him, how are you going to respond?”
She grins and takes a slow sip of her drink. “Depends on whether he just fixed my laptop.”
The flirty flash in her eyes makes me a lot less eager
to nudge her away from the table and out into the arms of another person, even if the other person is female. I shift under the table, deliberately bumping her knee with mine. Her legs are bare, and I have to fight the urge to reach under the table again to squeeze her knee or stroke her thigh or maybe just crawl under there myself and put my face between her legs so I can—
“Is it okay to admit I’m really nervous about this one?”
I swing my gaze back to Cassie. The anxiousness in her expression makes my heart feel like a soggy puddle in the middle of my chest, and I wonder if there’s any way to put her at ease. Conversation seems to do it most of the time, so that’s what I try.
“You never experimented in college?” I ask. “I know that’s a rite of passage for a lot of women—have a few beers at a party, kiss another girl on a dare.”
Cassie shakes her head. “That wasn’t really my college experience. Studying soil science, most of my classmates were male.”
I feel a pang of jealousy that’s so ridiculous I have to wash it down with another sip of whiskey. What gives me the right to be jealous of any guys Cassie may or may not have hooked up with in college?
My asinine flare of envy goes unnoticed, since Cassie is still talking. “Besides, I wasn’t much of a party girl. I always worked too much.”
“I can relate.”
A slender brunette in a little black dress sashays in, clutching a tiny red handbag that matches her lipstick. Cassie fingers the rim of her glass as she watches the woman stride across the bar to join a group of expensively-attired ladies occupying the corner table. I watch as Cassie’s expression turns wistful, and it occurs to me she’s probably spent most of her life being an outsider in one way or another.
I don’t mean she’s friendless and lonely or anything. Between her career path and the fact that she’s so different from her sisters, she’s spent an awful lot of time carving out a delicate balance between fitting in and finding her own way.
I admire the hell out of her for that.
But my admiration isn’t what she needs right now. She needs my help mustering up the courage to kiss another woman.
“I think you’re right that this isn’t the best pickup spot,” I tell her. “How about a brew pub or a dive bar or something?”
“A dive bar?”
“Sure. You know, the whole Portland hipster scene. Everyone’s into those little hole-in-the-wall places with greasy food and cheap beer and a lot of single people looking to hook up.”
She raises one eyebrow. “You make it sound so sexy.”
I smile and sip my drink, making an effort to nudge her knee with mine again. “You mean desperation and fried food don’t turn you on?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll cross those off my list of potential aphrodisiacs.”
She grins. “I take it back. I could probably be seduced by a big plate of cheese fries.”
“Duly noted.”
God, I love this easy banter with her. I also love the fact that I can see the edge of a black lace bra down the front of her dress. Regardless of what happens tonight, I sincerely hope there’s a chance I’ll see more of it.
I order myself to focus on Cassie’s girl-kissing mission and try to imagine a vibe more conducive to helping this plan along. I’ll admit I’ve never been much of a pickup artist. For some idiotic reason, women have always approached me. Not in high school, of course, when I was a pimply geek with big feet and smudged glasses. But later in life, when my skin cleared up and I started hitting the gym and discovering women are apparently into the whole Clark Kent vibe. That, and my bank account made me unexpectedly appealing to women.
Which is the main reason I’m avoiding telling Cassie I’m loaded. Her choice to spend time with me has nothing to do with my money or career or anything tied to those assets. Is it wrong to want to hold on to that a little longer?
“What about adding a game element to it?” I suggest.
Cassie looks startled for a moment, and it occurs to me her mind drifted like mine did. What was she thinking about?
“A game element,” she repeats. “How do you mean?”
“I’m just remembering back to college parties. Seems like the girls who hooked up were always doing it on a dare. Usually a drinking game or some other silly party game where two girls ended up having to kiss for five seconds while a bunch of drunk frat boys looked on. Maybe you need a game.”
She looks dubious. “You think I should bust out Chutes and Ladders as a form of foreplay?”
I laugh and swirl the ice cubes in my drink. “How about Hungry Hungry Hippos?”
“Connect Four?”
“Ha! Bonus points for the orgy innuendo.”
“Maybe I’ll add that to my next Fucket List.”
I can’t decide if I like that idea or not. I know things are over with Cassie and me when we hit number ten. The thought makes me sad, but it’s what we agreed to. Of course, if she made a second list, that might mean another shot at—
“How about Apples to Apples?” she suggests. “That’s a sexy name for a game. Bonus points for sounding like something that lends itself to a little girl-on-girl action.”
I laugh and do my best Matt Damon impersonation. “How do you like them apples?”
“Exactly.”
“Did you know that’s not just a movie quote? I read up on it once after I saw Good Will Hunting and wondered about the origin of the phrase.”
“I thought it came from From Dusk till Dawn?”
“It was in both films, but the phrase originated during World War II. A reference to bombs or grenades. Soldiers would use it to taunt the enemy.”
She smiles at me over the rim of her glass, and I feel my gut clench tight. “The intelligence aphrodisiac thing works both ways,” she says. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad I picked a smart guy to be my frivolous sex toy.”
“So am I,” I say, even as I feel a sharp, painful pinch at the edge of my heart. The ‘frivolous sex toy’ phrase stings more than it should, which is stupid. That’s exactly what we both agreed to here. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And then I remember the phone call from Junie this morning. The disappointment in her voice when I turned down her last-minute invitation to pizza night at the group home.
“So, you can’t come?” Her voice quivered a little on the last word, and I felt like someone stabbed a corkscrew through my heart.
“I’m sorry, Junie. I made plans tonight.”
“What sort of plans?”
Oh, God. There was no way I could tell her about Cassie. No way I could let her get attached to another woman who won’t be around for long.
“Plans,” I repeated, hoping that would suffice.
“Plans with a girlfriend?”
“No!”
The word came out more adamant than I meant it to, but it was true, dammit. Cassie’s not my girlfriend. That’s what we both agreed.
“I’m really glad you invited me,” I told my sister. “I wish I could come tonight, but what about brunch tomorrow?”
“I’d like that!” The smile in my sister’s voice was unmistakable. “I’d like that a whole lot.”
Even so, I felt like the world’s biggest asshole. I still feel like one now.
But I remind myself that this is why I can’t do this for the long term. There’s a reason I gave up trying to have a relationship. Junie is my number one priority, and always will be. I need to tread carefully with Cassie.
I also need to figure out how to help her do number eight.
Pushing aside my gloomy thoughts, I study Cassie again. God, she’s beautiful. I watch as she surveys the bar, those green eyes taking in every detail of what’s happening around us. The candlelight makes her eyes glitter, and she’s wearing some sort of rosy lip gloss that tastes like passionfruit. I’m aching to kiss her again. She reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear, and I catch a faint hint of vanilla that makes me dizzy.
“What abo
ut a video game bar?” I suggest. “There’s one called Ground Kontrol over on Northwest Couch. That would add the game element.”
“You’re suggesting I challenge a girl to a game of Tetris and the winner has to make out with the loser?”
“You have a better idea?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. She doesn’t say anything right away, and I watch her take one last sip of her drink before setting it down. There’s a naughty glint in her eye now that sends a spear of lust straight to my crotch. As she shoves her glass aside, she turns and gives me a small smile.
“I might have another idea,” she says. “But it would require leaving this place.”
At this point, I’d cheerfully follow the woman off the end of a dock with my pockets full of rocks, but I play it cool. “I’m game for that. Where are we going?”
She smiles a little bigger, and I notice a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. Cassie licks her lips, and it’s all I can do not to kiss her hard and deep right there in the bar.
“I’ll show you.”
Chapter Ten
Cassie
The second we walk into Casa Diablo, I know I’ve picked the right place to fulfill my girl-on-girl mission.
The topless woman at the front door offering four-dollar motorboats is my first clue.
“What’s a motorboat?” I whisper to Simon as he ushers me past a tattooed bouncer and into a dimly-lit room filled with dance music and more scantily-clad women than I’ve seen outside a gym locker room.
Simon looks uncomfortable, which is pretty funny for a red-blooded man who’s suddenly found himself in a strip club. Make that a vegan strip club—the only one in the universe, according to a friend who told me about this place a few years ago. I never thought I’d actually come here, but The List is making me try a lot of things I wouldn’t normally do.
One of the “things” I’ve done clears his throat beside me. “A motorboat is when you put your face between a woman’s breasts and, uh—sort of move your head back and forth making motorboat noises.”
“Oh.” I glance back at the door. “And that’s four dollars?”
