Now I’m hard.
Not wanting to lose an opportunity—and realizing I haven’t taken any shower pics for my blog—I jump out of the shower, streak through my place dripping suds everywhere, grab my phone, and climb back under the water. As the soap streams down my body, I snap pictures of my now-hard junk for a new post. I’m all wet, one hand with my cell just out of the spray of the showerhead, the other hand stroking myself and thinking of her the entire time.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Satisfied with the pictures, I reach out of the shower, put the phone on the counter, and finish myself off, imagining the way her gray eyes would look if she were on her knees, looking up at me with my cock in her mouth. The way her pouty full lips would close around me. How she’d moan around me.
Fuck.
I grip my balls with one hand and my shaft with the other, and go faster until I come with a bursted breath.
God. Yes.
Later that evening, as I upload the photos to the editing software, I think about the theme for tonight’s post and what I’m going to say.
I select an image and insert dark clouds and rain onto a photo of my wet, hard dick, with a background of the Seattle skyline.
But I can’t help myself. I add a puddle with a dog on a leash to the side of the image.
“It’s a rainy day in the city, and I’m intrigued,” I type. That kind of statement is ambiguous enough to cause a lot of comments, but it doesn’t say anything. Still, if Evie looks at it, she’ll know it’s about her.
And I think I want her to know.
“Mr. Cartwright, I have to say, you’re distracted this morning.”
Startled, I look up from my cell phone in a foggy, pre-coffee haze. It’s Monday morning in the office, and all the staff is in. I’m in the middle of texting Evie to check on her ankle, completely losing track of what I’m doing, and evidently not aware my secretary is asking a question.
“I’m sorry, Meredith, what did you say?”
“No problem, Mr. Cartwright. I asked if you wanted me to add the Waller party to your calendar.”
Waller party?
I look at the invitation she’s holding out—it’s the one Henry gave me, which I shoved in my overcoat pocket.
Now that I read it more carefully, I notice it’s for Gwen Waller’s birthday. As in Waller, Goldman & Associates, Evie’s firm.
Before I can respond to Meredith, and as if she knows I’m thinking about her, Evie responds to my ankle inquiry.
It feels better, she texts. All of that ice helped!
I look up at Meredith with a sheepish look on my face. “Hang on a second.”
Did you wrap it? I type.
Yeah.
Good.
I turn to Meredith. “Yes, please, put it on my calendar.”
“Sure thing, boss. And I’m glad to see you smiling. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
She drops the invitation in my basket, turns, and walks out of my office. I stare at her, wondering what she’s talking about.
A few minutes later, I get another text from Evie.
I saw your blog last night.
Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have added the caption or the dog in the puddle. Part of me definitely wanted her to see it. But I’ve got to play it off as a joke.
The more important question is, did you keep Chauncey away from it?
Ha ha. That dog loves you more than me.
I chuckle out loud, but stare at my phone. I want to talk to her. I want to hear her say the things she’s saying, not just read the text.
Almost immediately, I get another text. You know what I mean.
I immediately respond, I do. But my shirt looks better on you than it does on me. So we’re even.
There’s a pause before she responds. I turn to my emails to go through the ones marked in red and delete all the spam. My phone buzzes.
Speaking of which, I should return it.
Fuck it. I hit the phone icon and call her. She picks up almost immediately, and I get that jolt I always feel when I hear her voice.
“Hey, Josh.”
“Evie.” I don’t know why, but I like saying her name. “I was given an invitation to a party honoring Malcolm Waller’s wife, Gwen. Do you know anything about this?”
“Oh!” I hear relief in her voice. “Yes, that’s his annual gift to his wife—a party like no other. It’s the highlight of our firm’s year, and we always invite a lot of clients and local businesses.” Her voice drops. “I haven’t been invited yet, so I haven’t been able to ask anyone.”
I smile. “I was just curious. So that means there’s a possibility I’ll see you there?”
“Absolutely. I hope so.”
“Great.” I think my facial muscles are putting in a workout that they absolutely never get since I’m grinning like an idiot, but I don’t care. This woman cheers me up for no fucking reason at all. Then I remember my shirt. “Oh, and about your text? I can stop by and pick up my shirt any time. No rush.”
“That will work.” She pauses, and it sounds like she got up to close the door. She talks a little bit more freely than she did a moment before, and she’s almost conspiratorial. “The partners are supposed to have a meeting at noon today, so hopefully I’ll hear back about us taking on your representation, and we can get going on your matter.”
“Then I look forward to your call.”
Hanging up, I glance up and see Meredith looking back into my office with a huge grin on her face.
Why is everyone smiling so much?
I push up my glasses and get to work on the plans for a movie theater renovation, completely losing myself in the work. The city awarded me that big redevelopment project in Sellwood, and my head is exploding with ideas. I want to keep the original painted ceiling intact, but update the acoustics, seating, and sound design. I’m interrupted when my office phone rings, and Meredith transfers Henry to me. I’m barely paying attention, but I pick it up.
“You’re still going on Saturday, right?” he says into my ear.
I roll my eyes. “Hello to you too, Hank.”
No matter what age, it is the job of the youngest sibling, i.e. me, to be a pain in the ass to all the older ones.
I save my work and look at the clock. It’s almost two. Time goes by fast when I’m focused, and coming up from the work feels like I’m coming up for air while swimming. But I love it. That’s something Tiffany never really understood—that I actually like my job.
She wanted me to be with her twenty-four seven. But if she wanted me so badly, why did she cheat?
These are questions I drank out of my system months ago.
Right now, though, I have to deal with my brother, who is not happy with his nickname. “Don’t call me that.” He’s not nasty, just annoyed. Exasperated. The usual.
I look at my cell phone. Shouldn’t I have heard from Evie by now about that meeting? “Yes, I’m going. What time do you need me to pick you up?”
“You’re busy. Don’t worry about it. We’ll come get you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, opening a new file on my computer to backup my work. “So, seven?”
“Yes.”