Dying To Play. Debra Webb

what? He forgot to say thank you? He complained because the cleaners put too much starch in his shirts?”

      She took a deep breath. “When I got to his apartment with the cleaning, he was watching a movie with his friend Don. I laid the cleaning on the back of the couch and Bob said, ‘Good old Cassie. She always takes care of me.”’

      Jill winced. “Doesn’t Bob already have a mother? Now he needs you to be another one?”

      “That’s not the worst of it.” Cassie leaned back against the counter, arms folded under her breasts. “On my way into the kitchen, Don called out, ‘Good old Cassie, bring me a beer, why don’t you?’ And I brought it to him!” She curled her hands into fists, heart pounding at the memory. “I should have poured it over his head.”

      “Yes, you should have.” Jill patted her shoulder and moved over to tend the coffee machine. “Next time, you will.”

      If there was a next time. “What am I going to do?” Cassie asked. “Lately, when I’m with Bob, I feel like…like I’m invisible or something.”

      “Even when you’re in bed?”

      Cassie felt her face heat. “There hasn’t been much, um, activity in that department lately.”

      Jill’s eyebrows rose. “No wonder you’re so grouchy.”

      Before Cassie could think of a retort, two women came in and Jill left to take their order. Cassie retrieved a tray of bagels from the cooler and began to fill the glass jar on the counter. It wasn’t as if she and Bob never had sex…though it had been a while. When they first got together, the sex had been good. Pretty good anyway. Bob wasn’t exactly creative, but he’d been energetic enough.

      Now whenever she tried to get something going with him, he said he was too tired, or he ended up having to work late. At first, she’d taken his dedication to his job as a good sign. He was planning for the future—their future. Now, she was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Maybe Bob wasn’t the only boring one in this relationship.

      After the two customers left, Jill refilled her cup and perched on a stool behind the counter. “Have you thought of coming right out and asking Bob what’s wrong? You know—talking about it?”

      Cassie ducked her head and picked at a scuffed place on the edge of the counter. “I’ve thought of it. I just haven’t gotten around to doing it yet.”

      “Are you afraid of what he’ll say?”

      She winced. “No…yes…I don’t know.” She slid onto the stool next to Jill. “What if this isn’t Bob’s fault? What if it’s me?”

      Jill frowned. “How do you figure that?”

      She sighed and removed the glass dome from a plate of chocolate donuts. If she was going to hold her own little pity party, she might as well enjoy the appropriate refreshments. “Maybe if I’d finished college and gone on to a real career….” She pinched off a bite of donut and popped it into her mouth. “Maybe then Bob would think I’m more interesting and exciting.”

      Jill made a sour face. “Bob has a diploma and a so-called career and he’s about as exciting as shower mold.” She reached over and helped herself to half the donut. “And it’s not as if you’re a total slacker. You’re going to school.”

      “I don’t think Bob thinks massage therapy school is quite the same as college.”

      “When you graduate, you’ll probably help more people than any accountant ever would. How’s school going?”

      Cassie shrugged. “It’s going okay.” But at one time or another, she’d said the same about secretarial school, medical technology school and the real estate licensing program she’d attended. She’d never stuck with any of them for very long.

      In fact, she’d stayed with Bob longer than any attempt at a career. It had seemed easier somehow to hang on to a sure thing than to risk being alone again. But would being alone be so much worse than being ignored?

      “If you really want to fix things between you two, it sounds like you need to do something to heat things up a little,” Jill said.

      Cassie replaced the dome on the donut plate. “Yeah, but what can I do?”

      Jill traced a finger around the rim of her cup. “How about a little seduction? Remind him of what he’s been missing.”

      “What—?” The word was cut off by the door bells again. Couldn’t people go somewhere else to get their coffee this morning?

      Her annoyance vanished, however, when she recognized this particular customer. Guy Walters turned feminine heads wherever he went, and in the years she’d known him her reaction had progressed from heart fluttering to an all-out cardiac drum solo. Maybe it was the way his dark brown hair fell across his forehead. Or the way his laser-blue eyes looked at people, as if they really mattered. Maybe it was his broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped body, honed to masculine perfection by hiking, biking, climbing, skiing and every other outdoor activity yet invented. Or maybe it was that when Guy spoke, Cassie felt as warm and wonderful as if she’d just downed a cup of Godiva hot chocolate with extra cream.

      “Good morning, Guy.” She slid off her stool and hurried to take his order. Not that she needed to ask what he wanted. Every Tuesday and Thursday he came in for a breve mocha and a sausage roll on his way to work at Mountain Outfitters, the business he had founded and made into a regional success. She knew he wore CK One cologne, that the scar underneath his chin was from a rock-climbing accident when he was in high school and that half the women in Boulder had been in love with him at one time or another.

      “Hi, Cassie.” He plucked a sausage roll from the glass jar on the counter. “Grande breve mocha.” Cassie waited for his smile, which always left her a little breathless, but this morning the smile never came. What looked like an invitation on cream-colored paper with black engraving claimed his attention.

      “Somebody graduating or getting married?” she asked as she prepared his coffee.

      “What?” He looked up from studying the expensive-looking card. “Oh, it’s a wedding invitation. From an old friend.”

      Judging by the mournful expression on Guy’s face, she would have guessed it was a summons to a funeral. He tucked the invitation into the pocket of his leather jacket and picked up a flyer on the counter and began reading it. So much for a memorable conversation, Cassie thought. I might as well be invisible. Let’s face it. I’m ordinary, and Guy Walters is not.

      At Boulder High School, Guy had been part of a group of six upperclassmen who’d called themselves the Boulder Bandidos. They were behind every outrageous prank, from filling the science supply closet with two thousand Ping-Pong balls to attaching a pair of moose antlers to the front of Principle Harrington’s Volvo. They were the first to take any dare, the first to try any new thing, from snowboarding to ice climbing.

      Cassie had been three years younger, in the same class as Guy’s sister Amy. She’d admired him from afar, following his exploits in the school paper and later, when he’d gone to the University of Colorado, keeping up with him through Amy or other friends.

      She slid the cup of coffee across the counter and he paid, adding his change to her tip jar. “Thanks,” she said, though she doubted he heard her. Head bent, he pushed open the door, bells chiming in his wake.

      Jill came to stand behind her. “Why don’t you ditch Boring Bob and go after a man like Guy?”

      “As if he’d have anything to do with me.” She picked up the carton of half-and-half and carried it to the refrigerator.

      “Why not? You two have known each other a long time.”

      “I used to be friends with his sister. Years ago. Even back then, he hardly noticed me. And you saw how much attention he paid to me just now.”

      “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” Jill