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The mere thought of him inspires me to pull my cell out of Stella’s beach bag and send him a quick message.
Me: What are you doing?
Not even a minute later, my phone chimes with a response.
Ryan: On a conference call discussing merger and acquisition plans for the upcoming quarter.
Ugh. Gross. I scrunch up my nose.
Me: That sounds like my real-life version of hell.
Ryan: Ha. It’s actually pretty interesting.
Me: You’re such a liar. You know it’s one of the most boring things you’ve ever had to listen to.
Ryan: It’s not that bad.
Not that bad? Give me a break. I snort and get to the real point of my message.
Me: Are you on a phone call or a video call?
Ryan: Just phone, why?
Oh, hell yes.
Me: Can you do me a favor?
Ryan: Of course. What do you need?
I smirk at his naïveté.
Me: Send me a dick pic.
If I’m being honest, Ryan Miller has the most glorious penis I’ve ever seen in my whole life. And it’s big. Like, really big. His magnificent male member somehow manages to perfectly skate the line of being very big but not so big that you fear internal damage.
Honestly, the first time I witnessed him whip that sucker out of his pants, I felt like I was watching an unboxing video for a slip ’n slide.
Ryan: LOL. What? You’re nuts.
Me: C’mon, Ryan. Be bad. Send me a picture of your penis.
Ryan: Carly, I’m not sending you a picture of my dick.
Me: Boooooo. That’s lame.
Ryan: It’s not lame. I’m pretty sure it’s the normal response for any human being who is in the middle of a fucking conference call.
Me: Nope. Definitely lame.
Ryan: I see you’ve taken the peer pressure route, which I’m not falling for, but guess what I will do…
Me: Change your mind and let your dick take a selfie?
Ryan: I’ll show you my dick once Sal goes to sleep tonight.
Hmm…okay…
Me: Keep talking…
Ryan: 11:30 p.m. I’ll be on your mom’s back porch.
Me: And your glorious penis will be there too?
Ryan: Only if that delicious pussy of yours promises to make an appearance as well.
Me: Tell your penis I’ll be the girl in the pink robe without anything underneath it.
Ryan: Dammit, Carly. You’re making me hard.
Me: Uh oh… Does this mean you’re going to have to punish me again?
Ryan: You’ll have to wait and find out tonight.
Oh boy. I could sure go for a Ryan Miller tongue-lashing…
Fingers and toes and legs and pretty much everything crossed that tonight I get served a punishment that fits my hornball crime.
October 2nd, Friday
Ryan
Once I finish reviewing an updated contract from the Dolan account that my assistant Kelly sent over, I promptly draft an email back, letting her know I’m happy with the updates and to send it over to Legal for a double-check. This Dolan account has been a client of ours for many years now, and it’s not abnormal to have to update contracts on a yearly basis.
After I hit send on the message, another ten emails have managed to find a new home in my inbox, and I glance at the clock in the lower left-hand corner of my laptop to see it’s already after twelve. Shit. Normally, I check on Sal around noon, get him some lunch, and argue with him for about ten minutes until he agrees to ice his groin muscle for fifteen minutes before alternating to a heat pack for another fifteen.
You’d think since these are things that have been directly instructed by his doctor, he’d go with it. But Sal Miller never just goes with anything without putting up some kind of irrational battle.
“Hey, Dad,” I call out as I hop up from the dining table and head in the direction of the living room. But when he doesn’t answer and I reach the sofa, I’m faced with the vision of him stretched out on the cushions, eyes shut, and sawing logs.
Carefully, I snag a quilt from the back of the couch and place it over him, turn down the volume on the television, and close the blinds on the back patio doors where most of the sunlight filters into the living room.
Not a single task disturbs him, and I make a mental note to make sure he does the prescribed ice and heat rotation when he gets up from his nap.
But once I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head back into the dining room to resume tackling my monstrosity of a task list, curiosity and disappointment form a weird bond and settle in my stomach.
I’m disappointed that this is what I have to do right now. Which, truthfully, is very unlike me. I’m one of those weird types that actually like my job.
It’s just that my job can’t compare to the siren’s call that is Carly Page.
Hence the curiosity.
Phone in my hand, I shoot her a quick message.
