Chapter 12
Cassie
Several days pass, and believe it or not, I don’t spend every waking hour thinking about the stupid-hot guy who’s been having sex with me.
After a long week of evaluating soil nutrient levels at a vineyard, I find myself at home in my PJs on Thursday night with a bowl of Cheetos in my lap and my computer on the coffee table in front of me.
I’m sipping a glass of pinot noir from the aforementioned vineyard while compiling a report on sludge management and nonhazardous process wastes.
Sometimes I’m so glamorous I can’t stand myself.
I’ve just shoved a handful of Cheetos in my mouth when the phone rings. I glance down to see Simon’s name on the readout, and my stupid heart does a kicky little tap dance in my chest.
Reminding myself that I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man to open her jars or hit her G-spot, I finish chewing my Cheetos and hit the button to accept the call.
“Hey, Simon.”
“Hey, sexy.”
I catch myself grinning, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the compliment or because I’m actually pretty un-sexy right now. My cupcake-patterned leggings have a hole in one knee, and I’m wearing a sweatshirt that says Soil scientists know all the dirt.
I hit save on my computer file and lean back against the couch with the phone cradled against my ear. “How did your work thingy go last night?”
I’m doing my best to sound casual, but the truth is that I’m super curious about Simon’s job. I get the sense he doesn’t like talking about it much, which only makes me more curious.
Also, I’ll admit it—I’m wondering if he took a date. He didn’t say much about the event, except that he had to get dressed up. My sisters and I had plans last night, so I couldn’t have gone with him even if he had invited me, which he didn’t. Because we’re not dating.
But is it wrong to hope he didn’t take someone else?
“The event was good,” he says in response to the question I’ve forgotten asking. “Actually, really good. Get this—I won a two-night getaway to Ponderosa Ranch. That’s that fancy resort in Central Oregon.”
“You’re kidding me.” I drop the Cheeto I’d been holding and try not to feel jealous. “My sisters have been dying to go there since it opened. They made me look at all the pictures on the website. Lisa’s been trying to get her fiancé to take her.”
“Yeah, I hear it’s amazing. So is the package I won. Here, I’ll read you the certificate.”
I hear a rustling of paper, and I try to picture Simon at home. I’ve never seen his house, but I imagine it’s tidy and sparse with a lot of computer stuff lying around. Or maybe it’s more of a bachelor pad with piles of laundry in the corner and a roommate or two.
He begins to read, and I order myself to pay attention.
“This certificate entitles the bearer and one guest to round-trip limousine transportation from Portland, Oregon to Ponderosa Ranch Resor—”
“A limousine? You’re kidding me.”
“That’s just the transportation. Once we get there, it says we get lunch for two, an all-inclusive spa day including double mud bath and ninety-minute massage. There’s a two-night stay in a deluxe cabin, plus a few other things in this basket—looks like a bottle of wine and some slippers and—”
“Holy shit.” I’m not sure if I’m dumbfounded by the magnitude of this prize package or by the fact that he said “we.” Does he mean us? Simon and me, together?
I don’t want to presume anything. I wipe Cheeto dust on the knee of my leggings and pick up my wineglass off the end table. “That’s great, Simon. Congratulations. You won this at a work event?”
“It was a charity function I had to go to for work. Normally, I dread those things, but it really paid off this time.”
“I’ll say.” I’m not sure what a charity thing has to do with his job as a computer repair guy. I open my mouth to ask, but he’s quicker than I am.
“So, what are you doing this weekend?”
“This weekend?” I should probably invent something so I don’t sound desperate and too available, but the only thing I can come up with is testing the pH levels of my houseplants’ soil.
That’s lamer than being desperate and available.
“I don’t have plans,” I say. “Why?”
“Come with me. Be my date.”
“Are you serious?” My heart is thudding in my ears, but I tell myself it’s just the excitement of a luxury getaway. It has nothing to do with Simon himself. With the feelings that may or may not be growing bigger than I expected.
“Totally serious,” he says. “This seems like fate, doesn’t it? Number ten on The List—”
“‘Naughty spa day at super-snooty place for rich assholes,’” I recite, a little embarrassed now by my own word choice.
“We can be assholes together,” he says.
“There’s no one else I’d rather be an asshole with,” I tell him, which is true.
I bite my lip, wondering what the odds are that he’d win a luxury getaway at a place that so perfectly fits what I described on the list. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is fate.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’d love to go.”
“Awesome. I’ll email you a pic of the certificate. That has all the details about the package.”
“Perfect,” I say, imagining myself as the sort of woman who’d hop in a limousine bound for a luxury spa resort at the foot of the Cascade Mountains. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for agreeing to come.”
I hang up before I can make some asinine joke about the number of times I plan to come, since that’s the purpose of the trip. It is the purpose, right? We’re still just having sex with each other and not dating. There’s no reason to read anything into this.
I stare at the phone for a second, then pick it up again and hit the speed-dial number for Missy. If I remember right, my sisters have a standing date for hot yoga on Thursdays, followed by make-your-own-smoothie nights at Lisa’s place.
“Hey, Cass!” Missy’s voice is cheerful, and I can hear a blender running in the background. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. We were trying to remember that crazy story you told us a couple years ago about hooking up with that guy in the wine cellar at that vineyard over in Dundee. What was his name again? Ace or Hulk or something like that?”
“I—uh—something like that.” Crap. I’d forgotten that story. Does this mean I have to add something else to The List? On second thought, maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world. Maybe if I just keep adding items, I’ll never have to figure out how to cut things off with Simon.
“Listen, I’m heading out of town for the weekend,” I say. “Can we reschedule our date to talk about flowers for Lisa’s wedding?”
“Hang on, let me put you on speaker.”
There’s a rustling on the other end of the line, followed by a twangy echo. I hear Missy whispering something to Lisa, and I swear I hear the words “flaking out on us.”
“Cassie?” It’s Lisa’s voice this time. “What’s this about rescheduling our flower-viewing party?”
“Right. Something came up. I promise I’ll be there when you actually meet with the florist, but since we were just going to look at catalogs anyway, I thought maybe we could—”
“What came up? This isn’t a work thing, is it?”
“No, it’s not a work thing.” I clear my throat. “I’ve been invited to Ponderosa Ranch Resort.”
“What?!”
My sisters shriek in unison, and I find myself smiling. They’re jealous, I can tell. Is it wrong to feel a tiny bit smug?
“You trollop!” Missy says with the utmost fondness. “Let me guess—you’re going there with some guy?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “He asked me to come with him on this fancy spa getaway.”
I don’t mention that he won it. I don’t mention that Simon and I aren’t really serious. The thing I highlight is that he chose me.
I’m annoyed that this is what excites me most.
“You’re totally off the hook,” Lisa says. “That’s a good excuse.”
“Talk about a once-in-a-lifetime trip,” Missy says. “I’ve been dying to go there.”
“You’ll have to tell us all about it,” Lisa adds.
“Oh, I will.” I wonder if that’s true. For some reason, I’ve found myself holding back on sharing details of my hookups with Simon. How’s that for irony? I blab all the gory details when the stories are figments of my imagination, but clam up when they finally come true.
I’m not sure what to make of that.
“So. Thanks for understanding,” I say. “I’ve gotta go pack.”
“I’ll bring you some things tomorrow,” Lisa says. “God knows your wardrobe isn’t up to visiting a place like Ponderosa Resort.”
“Hmm, this is tough.” Missy’s not talking to me, so I don’t bother replying. “You’re thinking lumberjack chic with a bougie twist?”
“That sounds right,” Lisa murmurs. “Maybe something like my Fulvia cashmere plaid shirt in tartan plaid?”
“Burberry has some great wool sweater coats in their fall line.” Missy adds. “Oh! You can borrow my Burberry scarf. And my red Jimmy Choo stilettos.”
“She wouldn’t be able to walk in those.”
As my sisters bicker about dressing me, I settle back against the couch. Shoving a fresh handful of Cheetos in my mouth, I try not to think too much about Simon undressing me.
Or how little time we have left for him to do that.