I gaze after her buns as she saunters off toward the kitchen, hips swaying in a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a green sleeveless top I know her sisters convinced her to wear. I remind myself to send them a thank-you note as I turn my attention back to the grill. The meat sizzles when I flip the patties, rearranging them over the hot coals.
I could have had my private chef handle all of this, but I wanted to do the honors. Today, Cassie and I are celebrating one year together. That’s assuming you define “together” as “the first time we mashed our genitals against each other,” which isn’t something Hallmark makes a card for. Still, it’s an important milestone, so we’ve invited the whole gang to celebrate.
Missy and Lisa have been busy rearranging the centerpieces on all the bistro tables scattered around my patio. Our patio, I amend silently, a little giddy with the thought that Cassie and I now share a home. It took months of convincing before she agreed to move in with me, but I think she’s loving it as much as I am.
Around-the-clock sex is only one of the reasons.
“Simon?”
I turn to see Lisa holding up a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, which I made sure to have well stocked just for her. “This is just sitting in the chill bucket getting sweaty,” she says. “Would you like me to go ahead and open it?”
“Be my guest,” I tell her. “You’ll find glasses over there. Pour some for everyone if you want.”
“Uh-uh,” Junie says, grimacing as she steps up beside Lisa. “No way. Champagne tastes like soda pop made out of battery acid.”
I frown at my sister. “When have you had champagne?”
“Or battery acid?” Lisa puts her arm around Junie’s shoulders and begins walking toward the pool. “Come on. I brought some of that soda you liked at Missy’s house the other day. Want me to fix you a glass with a little umbrella in it?”
“You have cherries?”
“Yep! I even brought straws.”
My sister beams, and I feel my heart dissolving into a sticky lump of bubblegum in my chest as the two of them disappear through the gate. As I flip another burger, someone touches my arm. I look up to see Sarah, the caretaker for Junie’s group home.
“For the record, Junie didn’t have champagne,” Sarah reassures me. “It was sparkling cider at Lisa’s wedding.”
“Was this before or after the groom freaked out and took off running?”
Sarah grimaces. “After,” she says. “But before the sisters started drinking Dom Perignon straight from the bottle and speculating whether castration with a grapefruit spoon or a rusty nail would be more effective.”
I look through the pool gate at Lisa, who’s laughing with Junie over something one of them just said. As distraught as Cassie’s sister seemed when her dickhead fiancé pulled a runaway-groom maneuver, she appears fully recovered.
According to Cassie, Lisa’s better off without the prick.
Turning back to Sarah, I flip another burger patty. “I’m really glad you came to Lisa’s wedding, even if it didn’t happen. Junie adores you so much, and since Cassie’s family has made Junie such a big part of their family?—”
“Don’t go getting sappy on me, Traxel.” Sarah grins. “You know I love hanging out with you guys.”
“Still, I owe you an extra bonus. What kind of car do you like?”
She laughs like I’m joking, even though I’m not. But I guess that will have to be a surprise, since Sarah smacks me on the shoulder and heads off toward the pool with the others. A few minutes later, Cassie reappears by my side with a plate of cheese slices in one hand.
“At least half the crowd wants cheese.” She stands on tiptoe to kiss the edge of my jawline. “And I definitely want you.”
“No problem on either count.”
She grins and sinks back down on her heels, her gaze drifting toward the pool. “You know who’d be great to hook up with Sarah?”
I glance down to see Cassie giving me a mischievous grin, and all I can think about is how great Cassie is with me. “Sarah’s sweet, but we are not having a threesome with my sister’s caregiver,” I tease.
“Ugh! Totally not where I was going with that, you perv!” She swats my ass as I begin piling cheese slices on the sizzling patties. “I was actually thinking of setting her up with?—”
“Hey, Cassie.”
We both turn to see Missy approaching with a champagne flute in one hand. Her husband, Brooks, is a few steps behind, and the way he’s checking out his wife’s ass gives me warm thoughts about the future for Cassie and me.
“Did you make these centerpieces?” Missy asks her sister. “They’re fabulous.”
