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.”
