Chapter 20
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 the 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.
“All right, then,” I tell him. “Give me just a second to do something.”
I sit down on the sofa and pull my laptop toward me. As Simon watches, I toggle my way to a document I haven’t opened for weeks.
Super awesome wild-ass (holy shit they’re gonna kill me) sex stuff to figure out before D-day
I scroll down to item number nine and hover the cursor over the little checkbox. All those words wink back at me.
Sexy things we’ve done. Experiences I never expected to have, especially not with the man standing in front of me with his hands stuffed awkwardly in the pockets of his tuxedo trousers.
I look up at Simon and he smiles. My heart surges upward and lodges somewhere in my throat. I am such a goner.
I look back at the document and click the checkbox next to item number nine.
“There.” I look up at him. “Almost done. There’s just the Post Hole Digger, and I don’t think we’ll ever figure that one out.”
His grin gets wider, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, he peels off the tuxedo jacket and rests it over the back of the sofa. Then he walks around to the front of the couch and sits down beside me.
“Yes, we will,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together.”
I lick my lips, not daring to look at him. “The sex position?”
“The sex position, the relationship—all of it.”
He’s so close I can feel the heat from his body. So close I could climb into his lap if I felt like it.
I kinda feel like it.
He puts an arm around me, and I lean into all that heat. When he cups one palm around my cheek, I let him tip my face up. I’m staring into those liquid brown eyes, and I know he’s about to kiss me.
I know what else is coming, too.
“So, you’re saying if we finish The List, it isn’t the end?”
“Nope,” he says. “It’s just the beginning.”