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“Yeah, it is.” I licked my fingertip again. “He wants to talk about my lipids.”
“Hot,” Cass repeated.
The thing was, I couldn’t even get into fantasies about Dr. Stephen Florris right now. All I could think about was Cass. He was wearing jeans and a red cable knit sweater and his hair was mussed and we were just friends but I wanted to kiss him. So much. Also wanted to grope the front of his jeans. And bite his neck. And suck his dick. And marry him.
I’d had a lot of wine.
And Kahlua.
“Maybe he can give me my own Xanax prescription. So I don’t have to keep getting pills from my mom.”
“Kathy gives you her Xanax?”
“Sometimes. When she’s in a good mood.”
Cass stared at me from the other side of the couch. We’d made sure to leave a friend-appropriate distance between us. “Why are you so anxious?”
“I don’t know. Why is the sky blue? Why does this town have five Christmas stores? Why are you so hot?”
“Wait, what?”
“Nothing.”
“Fran.”
“You are, though.”
“What did we say?” he asked sternly.
“Friends.”
“Right.” He drained the last of his wine then set his glass on the coffee table. “You’re hot too.”
“Thanks.”
We didn’t say anything for a minute. Cass leaned back. “What do you want for Christmas? Your one wish?”
“Like, awish? Or something, like, athing. An item.”
“A wish. It can be an item.”
I considered this. “To be on Dr. Florris’s naughty list, I guess.”
“No, seriously.”
“For my girls to be happy. Forever.”
He nodded. “That’s a good one.”
“What about you?”
“Um…” He laughed awkwardly.
“C’mon. Are you embarrassed to say?”
“Sort of.”
“Yeah?”
