The List (The List #1)

by Tawna Fenske

  Missy speaks first. “We’d like to have a word with you.”

  She closes the magazine and sets it aside, then gestures to a nearby Adirondack chair that I’m pretty sure no one’s ever sat in before. Part of me wants to point out the social faux pas of inviting yourself to someone’s home and then giving the orders, but the truth is that I’m a little glad to see them. Maybe. I guess it depends on why they’ve come.

  I ease myself into the chair and rest my hands on the arms of it. I feel awkward and out of place on my own front porch, and I just want one of these two to tell me how Cassie’s doing. If she hates me, or if she’s already forgotten my name.

  “He does have nice hands,” Lisa says to Missy.

  “That is a point in his favor.”

  They’re talking about me like there’s some sort of score sheet I’m unaware of, and I feel a flicker of hope that’s Cassie’s doing. But no. Cassie is done with me. She made that clear.

  I clear my throat. “How did you know where I live?”

  “That Forbes article had a photo of the view from your back deck,” Lisa says. “Lake Oswego isn’t that big. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “Remind me to install a better security system.”

  “We didn’t break in,” Lisa points out.

  I don’t doubt that they could if they wanted to. These two seem crafty. Missy reaches below the seat and pulls out a jar filled with amber liquid and something that looks like mint leaves. She pours some into a glass then reaches into a small cooler at her feet and plucks a few ice cubes with silver tongs. She drops them into a glass and hands it to me, while Lisa produces a small glass jar filled with tiny cookies, each with an almond in the center. I take two, hoping they haven’t shown up here to poison me.

  If they have, it’s an okay way to go. This is a damn good cookie.

  “You take sugar in your iced tea?” Missy asks.

  “I’m good, thank you.”

  As soon as we’re all settled in with our drinks and snacks in hand, Lisa begins the lecture portion of the afternoon. “We’re here about Cassie.”

  My stupid heart does a painful surge at the sound of her name, but I do my best to keep my expression neutral. “I kinda figured.”

  “She told us how the two of you met.” Missy gives me a knowing look, but I only nod. No way am I volunteering anything. I don’t know what Cassie actually told them, so I’m keeping quiet.

  “About The List,” Lisa adds. “And the sex stuff.”

  “Not the details,” Missy adds, probably because she saw me start to choke on my tea. “She was discreet.”

  “Good,” I reply, not sure how to respond to that. “I guess that’s—something.”

  What a stupid reply. If they didn’t already hate me, I’d be worried about the impression I’m giving. That I’m an uneducated idiot whose conversational skills rival those of a drunk baboon.

  “Okay, then.” Lisa presses her lips together. “We’d like to get everything out on the table.”

  Missy gives me a pointed look, and I know what she’s thinking. That I’m the one who should be spilling my guts. That I’m the one who should be volunteering every last detail about myself.

  But Lisa surprises me with her next words.

  “There are a few things you should know about Cassie,” she says.

  Missy nods. “Important things.”

  “For instance, when we were in high school, I told her I could do a Brazilian blowout on her hair,” Lisa says. “Only I screwed something up, and she ended up with orange patches.” She runs her palms down the knees of her tailored slacks. “It was not one of my finest moments. But she forgave me.”

  “She also forgave me the time I set her up on a blind date with a guy who brought his mother along,” Missy says. “Though she probably shouldn’t have.”

  I frown, not quite sure what these two are driving at. “Is there a reason you’re wanting me to know how much of your shit she puts up with? Because I’ve gotta tell you, I kinda figured that out on my own.”

  The sisters exchange a look before turning back to me. Missy sighs like she’s having to explain something to an exceptionally dense child. “That’s not what we’re saying at all,” she tells me with exaggerated patience. “We’re saying she understands that people make mistakes.”

  “And she’s willing to forgive the people she cares about.”

  “Provided those people make amends.” Lisa folds her arms over her chest and levels me with a look I’m certain brings her fiancé to his knees on a regular basis. “Those were some pretty big lies you told her.”

  “I didn’t lie, exactly.”

  Both women frown at me, and I have the good sense to look away.

  “Fine,” I say. “There may have been a few small fibs about the vacation.”

  “There were plenty of lies by omission,” Missy says. “Those count, too.”

  I sigh. I feel exhausted, which might have something to do with the fact that I haven’t slept well all week. I’ll admit it. I enjoyed sleeping next to Cassie the few times it happened. I loved hearing her laugh across the table from me at dinner, or reaching across the bed at night to stroke the gentle curve of her shoulder. I miss the way she rolls her eyes when I annoy her, or the soft little sighs she makes in her sleep.

  Fine. I miss her whether I’m awake or asleep.

  I’m not sure what to do. “Look, I’ve spent the last five or six years dating women who only want me for my money.”

  “Not very smart of you,” Lisa says. Her arms are still folded, and she reminds me of an expensively-dressed school teacher.

  Missy gives a small snort of disgust. “I can assure you that’s not who Cassie is. She’s not the sort of woman who’d care one iota about your money.”

  I look down into my tea. “No, she only wants me for my—”

  “Ahem,” Lisa interrupts, kicking my shin so I look up at her. “I beg to differ.”

  “She likes you.” Missy presses her lips together. “Probably a lot more than she should.”

  “And it’s obvious you like her.” Lisa picks up her iced tea and takes a dainty sip before setting the glass down on a lacy doily thing I’m just now noticing. “We saw your face in the coffee shop. When Cassie said you were just friends?”

  “You looked like a man who’d been punched in the stomach,” Missy says. “Like someone ran over your foot and then backed up to do it again.”

  Lisa nods in agreement, then cocks her head at her sister. “You know, I don’t think he even realized how much he liked her. Not until right then.”

  “Good point.” Missy folds her hands in her lap and looks at me. “Which is why he’s damn lucky Cassie’s the sort of woman who believes in second chances.”

  There’s a hopeful flicker in the center of my chest, but I ignore it. There’s no way she’ll forgive me at this point.

  Is there?

  I set down my glass and drag my hands down my face. I still haven’t figured out if the sisters are here to offer hope or to kick my ass. Maybe a little of both. Which do I want?

  You know damn well what you want. You’ve known it for weeks. You’re just too chickenshit to go after it.

  I take a deep breath and look at the sisters. “So, what are you saying?” I ask. “That she’d take me back if I asked? If I told her I wanted an actual relationship?”

  Lisa cocks her head at me. “Do you?”

  I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to answer. Because I’m scared to.

  “Yeah,” I admit at last. “I didn’t think I did, but then I met Cassie. And I guess—I don’t know. Maybe she’s not like all the other women I’ve dated.”

  “Duh.” Missy looks at me with such disdain that I’m back to wondering if they’re here to poison me. “Cassie is like no woman you’ve ever met.”

  “One of a kind,” Lisa agrees.

  “Absolutely nothing like your money-grubbing hussies.”

  I take a shaky breath. I want all of this
to be true. Part of me is so desperate for there to be some way of fixing things that I worry I’m losing sight of the real problem. Of the reason I was so dead set against a relationship in the first place.

  “Junie,” I say. “My sister. She gets attached very easily. Losing someone like Cassie—it would break her heart.”

  “Then don’t lose Cassie, you idiot,” Missy says. “Problem solved.”

  “Are you sure it’s your sister’s heart you’re really worried about?” Lisa folds her arms over her chest again. “Maybe it’s your own that scares the hell out of you.”

  Her words hit me like a punch in the jaw. Is she right? Is there some truth to what she’s saying?

  “Besides,” Missy adds. “Your sister would be lucky to have someone like Cassie in her life. Someone loving and kind and smart—”

  “And loyal and sweet and compassionate.”

  “And funny and beautiful and clever,” Missy concludes with a sharp nod.

  I swallow hard, trying to get my bearings. Trying to come to terms with the fact I might have fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

  But maybe there’s a chance to fix it.

  “You’re right,” I say slowly. “Cassie is all of those things. All of those things and more.”

  Both sisters smile at me like I’ve finally gotten a test answer right after a dozen wrong guesses. It’s Missy who speaks first.

  “Then to answer your earlier question, yes—I believe she’d take you back.”

  There’s that stupid flare in my chest again. It’s building to a small flame now, warm and hopeful. From the instant I spotted these two on my porch, this is what I’d wished they’d come to tell me. That I had a shot at this. That I could still get Cassie back.

  “What do I need to do?”

  I hate the desperation in my own voice. I hate the look the two sisters exchange. But I really hate what Lisa says next.

  “You’re going to need to figure that part out for yourself, smart guy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cassie

  In conclusion, it’s evident the warty nodules are instrumental in hosting the rhizobia, allowing for beneficial symbiosis between root and soil.

  There. Pure poetry. Okay, maybe not poetry, but eloquent enough to get published in the Journal of Soil Science. That’s the hope, anyway.

  I hit save and set my laptop down on the coffee table. I promised I’d take myself out for a nice dinner as soon I finished the article, but now I’m rethinking the plan. It’s comfy here on the sofa with my yoga pants and sloppy bun, and I kinda want to stay like this. At least I showered today. That counts for something, right?

  I pad barefoot to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of pinot gris. Grabbing a few homemade cheese straws Lisa left earlier when she stopped by to show me photos of the place she’ll be staying for her honeymoon, I return to the living room and set my wineglass on the coffee table. I frown at it sitting there next to the laptop, then pick it back up and set it on the end table instead.

  Never let anyone say I don’t learn from my mistakes.

  The thought of mistakes and laptop repairs in the same breath makes me think of Simon. No surprise there. Most things make me think of Simon these days, which is dumb. The man was in my life for just a few weeks. His absence shouldn’t leave such a gaping hole in my chest.

  You’re just horny, I tell myself.

  I almost believe that’s all it is.

  The doorbell rings, and I glance at my watch. It’s just after nine on a Friday evening. Missy called earlier to ask what I was doing tonight so she could swing by with a book I asked to borrow. I wasn’t expecting her this late, but whatever.

  I throw open the door without checking the peephole first, which is how I find myself staring straight at a tuxedo-clad chest that is clearly not my sister’s.

  The lack of boobs isn’t the only giveaway.

  “Hello there.” Simon’s wearing aviator Ray-Bans and cuff links I think might be real gold. He’s carrying a leather briefcase that looks like something my grandfather would have owned.

  I gape at him. “What the fuck?”

  Simon frowns. Clearly, this is not the reaction he expected.

  He sets the briefcase down and slides the shades up on top of his head. The sight of those shimmery brown eyes makes me almost lose my cool.

  But since I have no cool points to start with, I’m unaffected. Mostly.

  “That’s not your line,” he says. “You’re supposed to be the innocent young college student who’s dazzled by the millionaire tycoon. I’m supposed to seduce you. Item number nine, remember?”

  I roll my eyes, hoping he can’t hear my heart thudding in my chest like an animal trying to escape. “I’m done with The List.”

  Alarm flashes in those warm brown eyes, and I realize I need to clarify. “I don’t mean I finished it with someone else,” I tell him. “I’m just done. You’re off the hook, Simon. Thanks for the ride.”

  I start to close the door, but he sticks out the heel of his hand and stops me. The sleeve of his jacket rides up, and I can see he’s wearing a Rolex. A fucking Rolex.

  “Yes, it’s real,” he says, noticing my gaze on his wrist. “This is me.” He gestures to his torso, then frowns. “Well, it’s not really me. I hate this shit, actually.”

  “This is your idea of seduction?”

  “I’m getting there,” he says. “I’ve spent the last few years trying not to look like a rich asshole. But I’m laying it all out on the table now. I’m here to be your millionaire tycoon.”

  “For The List.” I can’t tell if I mean it as a question or a statement, but he shakes his head.

  “Not just for The List. For you.”

  I snort and fold my arms over my chest. “So, this is your impression of a wealthy tycoon?”

  He nods, and I notice then that he looks more sheepish than cocky. “It’s not a very good impression. I hardly ever wear tuxedos.”

  “I see.”

  “And I might have borrowed the briefcase.”

  “I know, I’ve seen your backpack,” I say. “That explains the monogram that says JP.” I nudge the corner of the briefcase with my bare toe, and it flops over. I wonder what he’s got in there, or if it’s empty.

  “Also,” Simon continues, “I tried to get some business cards that said ‘tycoon,’ but there was a mix-up at the printer.”

  He reaches into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and fishes out a small rectangular card. He holds it out and I take it from him, squinting down at the wording.

  “‘Raccoon’?” I read. “Simon Traxel, Raccoon?”

  “I may have been unclear in my communication.” There’s something vulnerable in his expression, and I order myself not to let it get to me. “I’m talking about more than just the business card.”

  I shove the card in my pocket, and lean against the doorframe again. I’m trying for casual. For an “I don’t care that you’re here” kinda vibe.

  I’m pretty sure I’m failing. “You lied to me, Simon.”

  “You’re right, I did.” He takes a shaky breath. “Well, by omission. But it was still lying. I’m sorry I let you think I was a broke computer geek without a car. But that’s not the lie I’m sorriest about.”

  I swallow hard, hoping he doesn’t see how his words are affecting me. Hoping he can’t tell how glad I am that he’s standing here in my doorway right now. Instead, I fixate on what he just told me. “There’s another lie?”

  Simon nods. “When I said I didn’t want anything more than to be your frivolous sex toy. I wasn’t lying at first, but—” he shrugs, looking a little helpless. “Things changed.”

  Something soft and melty moves through my limbs, and I find myself blinking a lot harder than normal. I know I’m supposed to respond, but I can’t find any words.

  That’s okay, because Simon seems to have more. He rakes his fingers through his hair, forgetting about the Ray-Bans on top of his head. They hit t
he floor behind him, but he doesn’t turn around. “Look, I didn’t think I wanted more, but I do,” he says. “I want it with you. Only you, Cassie.”

  I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words. They’re what I’ve wanted to hear, but does he mean them? And at this point, am I willing to listen?

  “What makes you think I want more?”

  I watch his throat move as he swallows again. “Do you?”

  “Maybe.” I shake my head, annoyed that I feel so undone. “Simon, I hardly know you.”

  He clears his throat. “But you do know me. You might not know I own two Mercedes and vacation homes in three countries, but you know I scream like a girl when I see a spider. You know I love cheesy ‘80s movies, and that my favorite color is green. You know my awkward threesome story, which I’ve never told anyone else. But most importantly, you know I love my sister more than anyone in the world, because I lied to you so I could protect her from falling for you as much as I did.”

  My heart twists at these little morsels of information. At this wholehearted—albeit clumsy—effort to open up. “This is you letting me in?”

  He nods. “This is me being a rich asshole who’s also capable of opening up and sharing.”

  “I appreciate that.” I bite the edge of my lip. “For the record, I’m not after you for your money.”

  “I know.”

  “Or your dick.”

  He raises one eyebrow.

  “Okay, I might not be just after your dick,” I concede. “But other parts, too.”

  “Can I come in?”

  I hesitate only a moment. Then I step aside and let him pass through the entry and into my living room. He gives a low whistle. “This is a pretty nice apartment for a college student.”

  Right. We’re still roleplaying. Not very well, and there’s nothing too sexy about it. But hey, that’s real life. That does seem to be what we’re considering here. What Simon has come to offer me, if I’m willing.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, rolling up the sleeves of my college-girl sweatshirt. “Want me to whip up some ramen noodles, or should we go right to cramming for finals?”

  He grins. I’ve extended an olive branch, and he knows it. “Cramming sounds good to me.” He gives me that mischievous smile that turns my insides to mush, and I know I’m a goner.