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But the only other person who tweaked both my mind and body was Jesse, and he was cued up for
a final go-around with Dauphine. Unless I could recruit a substitute. And that’s when it struck me like
a marvelous bolt of lightning.
“… anyway, look, I’m just gathering adventures too, Cassie, and maybe you’re one of them. But if
you’re not into this, that’s cool. No skin off my nose.”
My thoughts drifted. They were both young and brash and lanky. They both had sexy smirks. They
both looked good in a white tank top, a rarity for any man other than a ’50s Marlon Brando. But while
Jesse had a warmth, a kindness to him, maybe because he was a single dad, Mark was bratty. Jesse
had tattoos, though I was still surprised Mark didn’t. I tried to calculate exactly when Dauphine might
have her Jesse fantasy. She got back from Buenos Aires in a few days, so it would take place within a
month. A wave of nervous energy ran through me. S.E.C.R.E.T. recruits were put through a battery of
tests that took weeks. I had to act fast—
Mark snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Where are you, Cassie?”
“Sorry. I’m here. The dogs … they’re so cute. I got distracted.” I turned to fully face him on the
bench. “You know, I liked what you said about gathering adventures. You’re young. That’s precisely
what you should be doing. You shouldn’t be tied down to one woman right now, right?”
“I guess,” he said. “But I’m a musician. We like having girlfriends. They ground us while we
create.”
“Right.”
The dogs were circling each other, sniffing. I turned to look him in the eye, my mouth set in a
determined line.
“So if you’re serious about ‘gathering adventures,’ I think I have one for you. It’s a big one. An
incredible one. The kind of adventure you’re not going find anywhere else.”
“Or with anyone else?” he asked, leaning in to kiss me.
I held him off. “This is an adventure you’ll have … with other women. More interesting women
than me. Adventurous women. If you are open to it.”
And just like that, a slow smile spread across Mark’s face. Men do have it easier, I thought. He
didn’t need a preamble or assurances before taking in my proposition, the same shocking one Matilda
had dropped on me, the one I had offered Dauphine a few months ago. He didn’t need to be warmed
up, comforted or cajoled. He didn’t need to be gingerly approached. He didn’t have deep psychic
obstacles to overcome or social conditioning to fight against. My offer didn’t cause him to question
everything he had been taught about his role in the world or his sexuality. When I dangled the
possibility of more sex, interesting sex, lots of sex, exactly the way he liked it and the way women
liked it, he simply clasped his hands behind his head and said, “You have my attention, Cassie
Robichaud. My full attention.”
Matilda wasn’t as easy to convince.
“He has to go through a vigorous screening process, Cassie. That means medical, psychological,
physical—”
“He’ll pass,” I said, tearing the label clean off my beer bottle.
“That’s a sign of sexual frustration,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing out my fidgeting.
“So is this request, believe me!”