Chapter 8 #2
“Yeah. I like when people come to me with a problem. I like picking up on clues and asking questions to determine what’s wrong and how to fix it. There’s a surprising amount of people skills required to do the job.”
I’m taken aback by his answer. I expected him to say something about being a lifetime computer geek or loving video games. But this level of thought is commendable for someone with a job I’m guessing doesn’t pay all that well. Then again, what do I know?
“I’m impressed,” I tell him. “It seems like you really enjoy your work.”
“I do. And I like the people I work with.”
“How many people work at Hot Swap?”
“We have more than six hundred employees at twenty-six locations around the Pacific Northwest.”
“Wow. I had no idea. Do you work at more than one Hot Swap location?”
He looks down at the pork rib in his hand, taking a slow bite and chewing it before he answers. “I float around a bit.”
I get the sense he’s uncomfortable with this line of questioning, though I’m not sure why. Maybe he’s self-conscious about his job? About his assumption that my career probably pays more than his does?
While soil scientists don’t exactly kill it financially, I do okay. I worked hard for my PhD, and my employer pays accordingly.
I decide to let the whole subject drop. There’s no point in discussing money or career choices with a guy I’m just seeing temporarily. Not even seeing, exactly. Not in the dating sense.
We’re just sleeping together, I remind myself, in case I’d started to forget.
I start to reach for another rib before realizing it’s the last one on the table. “Are you going to eat this?”
He grins at me. “You have quite the voracious appetite, Miss Michaels.”
His voice makes me shiver, or maybe it’s the suggestion in those words. I pick up the rib and bite into it, hoping I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew with Simon.
My sisters stop by later that night. I’d asked them to come, but still. I’m never quite braced for how they overwhelm any room they march into with their startling efficiency and clouds of expensive perfume.
“Cassie,” Missy says, squeezing my hand. I’m relieved to see she’s abandoned the double-cheek-kiss habit she picked up in Europe last month. “So good to see you.”
“I brought the exercise ball you asked for,” Lisa says. “They were selling them in the gift shop at the country club, so I bought you one of your very own instead of lending you mine again.”
“That’s so thoughtful,” I tell her, accepting the flowery gift bag with a little orange ribbon tied to the handle.
“Yes, well, I was excited when you said you wanted to try Pilates,” Lisa says. “For real this time, instead of having kinky sex on it like you did before.”
Both sisters giggle, and I feel a sharp stab of guilt.
When they first showed me how to lie back on the oversized exercise ball for a series of ab exercises, I was intrigued.
Then they dragged me to their prissy gym filled with immaculately-coiffed trophy wives and supermodel soccer moms, and all I could think about was fleeing the place as fast as possible.
Or fucking someone on the ball. That’s where the fantasy started.
But since I didn’t have anyone to partner with on that endeavor, I borrowed Lisa’s ball for a few halfhearted ab crunches at home. I popped it by accident when I left it sitting too close to my iron, then made up the sex story to avoid a sisterly lecture on proper ironing techniques.
“Thank you,” I tell my sister as I set the gift bag aside and give Lisa a hug. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I don’t suppose you have any lavender lemonade?” Missy asks.
“No.” I try not to grit my teeth. “No lavender lemonade. How about wine, beer, or water?”
“Perrier?” Lisa asks hopefully.
“No,” I tell her. “Water. Like from the tap. Portland has some of the best drinking water in the country. I can even add ice to it if you like.”
My sisters exchange a look, and I can’t tell if it’s disdain for my drink selection or a silent observation that Cassie is being “that way” again. I’m never entirely sure what “that way” is, except that it’s not their way.
The story of my life.
“We’re fine, thanks,” Missy says. “Actually, we just wanted to make sure you’re still up for our girls’ wine getaway in a few weeks. We know you have a lot of travel scheduled for fieldwork, so we were afraid you might bail.”
“The girls’ getaway,” I repeat. “Right. Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”
Or I forgot about it. There’s no way I’m admitting that, though. I guess I’ve been a little busy, what with all the plant-soil microbe research and kinky sex.
“I’m so excited for it to be just the three of us,” Lisa says. “No parents, no friends, no men.”
“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.”