Page 82 of Last on the List
“Are you sure the dog didn’t attack the bird?” Claire inquires, licking syrup off her fingers. “My dog loves to chase birds. One time he killed one. Ripped its head right off and dropped it on my mom’s good rug.”
“You have a dog?” Everly gasps, and I feel mildly concerned that she just skipped over the head ripping part of the story. “My grandparents have a dog.”
“Yes, his name is Rufus. He eats his own poop.”
“Ew!” They giggle together and begin talking about dogs and poop, giving Cassandra a much-needed reprieve from her epic tale of wizards, birds, and dogs.
I mouth a quick, “I’m sorry,” to her for the tenth time. I cannot believe I didn’t lock the door. It didn’t even occur to me last night. I suppose because it’s never been something I had to get in the habit of doing.
And honestly, after unloading on her a decade’s worth of baggage, I must have been too exhausted to even consider it. Jesus, that was a lot more than I intended to share with her. Hell, I think it was more than I said to my fucking therapist after a month’s worth of sessions.
Cassandra has this way of disarming me a lot. I thought banging it out would help with that, but I fear it’s just making it worse. She’s getting under my skin, and I’m not sure what I think about that.
The girls put their plates in the sink and go outside to play, giving Cassandra and me some privacy at last. I walk over to her and set my phone down on the table beside her, so my hands are free to inspect her knee. I grab her by the ankle and sit down on the chair that her leg is propped up, placing her foot in my lap. Pulling the ice off, I wince when I see a decent bruise forming already.
“Yikes. That’s going to leave a mark.”
“At least this mark was self-inflicted,” she murmurs, trying to look angry but failing miserably.
“You want me to call Josh?” I look up and watch her carefully.
“No,” she replies with a laugh. “Farm girl, remember?”
“How could I forget?” My hand lingers on her leg, and I have to fight the urge to slide my palm up between her thighs. Her breath hitches, clearly picking up what I’m putting down, but our dirty thoughts are interrupted when my phone pings with a notification.
Cassandra grabs it and slides it over to me while glancing at the screen. “Who’s Henley?”
A wave of adrenaline rushes through my body. “Fuck.”
“What?” Cassandra asks, her eyes darting down to the phone with a frown.
I open the text and see a photo of Henley in a dress. The caption asks,Will this do?
I turn my phone over and run my hand through my hair, ruffling it on the top as I try to figure out what the fuck to do about this situation.
“Max, you’re scaring me.” Cassandra’s voice is charged with anxiety.
I flatten my hand on the table. “There’s nothing to be scared about…I just fucked up.”
“Fucked up how?” she presses, pulling her leg off my lap as if sensing what’s coming.
I can talk my way out of this. I can explain the situation and make her see reason. This doesn’t have to be a thing.
Turning to face Cassandra, I spread my legs out to straddle hers as I hit her with a serious look. “I invited Henley to be my plus-one at this charity event in Denver happening in a couple of weeks. This was before you and I started…banging it out.” That phrase suddenly feels painfully juvenile. “I’d completely forgotten about the event altogether, let alone the fact that I invited Henley.”
Cassandra blinks back at me curiously. “Who is she?”
“She’s…”Shit, how do I say this?“Someone I see in Aspen when I’m there.”
“Like a fuck buddy?” Cassandra asks what I can’t admit. I nod woodenly, and she huffs out a dry laugh. “For a guy who doesn’t do relationships, that’s scarily close to one.”
“Cozy,” I state.
“Don’t Cozy me,” she snaps petulantly. “Did you invite her after you kissed me?”
My brow furrows. “I might have.”
She licks her lips and nods, her jaw taut with irritation. “It’s fine…you two should go.”
