Chapter
Nineteen
Kitten
When I wake up, he’s gone. Only the fading light pink lines on my breasts and the aching soreness are all I have of him. Hell, he even took the blindfold off the stuffed animal when he left.
I texted him just to say thank you, but I’m blocked. That’s what makes me cry so much that I’m late to work.
Ryan texted last night, but I’m not in the mood to talk. I just want to wallow in my sadness. Still, I scan the lobby to see if he’s there. I also look around to see if anyone else is as depressed as I am.
Ryan’s not around and everyone has the same “I hate work” expression. Not “I’m broken-hearted because I just dumped an amazing girl.” Zero for two.
When I get to my desk, my phone buzzes. I shouldn’t check it. I’m a professional and at work. But … I also have very little willpower at the moment.
Ryan sends me a video. It’s of a highland cow in a pink tutu and a matching bedazzled cowboy hat running in a field to “Big Pimpin”. I watch it three more times. I’ve concluded this is the single greatest video the internet has ever spawned.
Ryan: Don’t know why, but it made me think of you.
Ryan: I think it’s the tutu.
Me: You have no idea how much I needed this.
Ryan: ?
Ryan: Are you okay?
Ryan: Can I get you anything?
He’s so sweet. Too sweet. I doubt he’s the type of guy who would tie me up and fuck me four different ways in one night.
Me: I’m ok.
Ryan: I am underwhelmed with that response.
Me: Well, not everything can be as great as a cow in a tutu.
Ryan: I can think of a few things.
He sends another video—two cows running to “Chariots of Fire”. Damn it. I’m smiling. I’m supposed to be in my sad-girl era, and instead, he has me smiling.
Me: Will you be eating dinner sometime this week?
Ryan: Every night.
Rebound sex is off the table—that’s for damn sure. I’ll need a few days to recover from last night. But hanging out might be exactly what I need.
Me: How about tonight?
Ryan: I’ll meet you at 5.
Me: Make it 5:30—I rolled into work late so I need to make up the time.
He sends a thumbs-up and I toss my phone in my purse. My body is still aching, so I pop some aspirin from my desk and get to work. It’s time for another installment of getting rejected by Alana King. Earlier, I sent a picture of an elephant with a fancy hat. It’s stupid. I hate it. I’ll be super pissed if that’s the one she goes with.
My desk phone rings a few minutes later. “I love it, but my partner hated it,” Alana says without saying hello.
“Partner? You’re dating someone?”
