Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 733(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Yeah, definitely,” he nods and apologizes again to my cousin before asking her what drink she’d like to make next.
“A dirty martini,” she says.
He reaches for a bottle of gin on the shelf and starts spouting off instructions.
My phone buzzes, and honest to God, my heart flutters like I’m in the fifth grade receiving a valentine from a crush.
It’s my boyfriend.
One week.
It’s been one week since he returned to his residency at Philadelphia General, and my brain translates a text as Farrow gifting me a piece of red construction paper shaped into a heart, glitter glued to it.
Fuck.
My.
Sappy.
Brain.
But I understand my semi-infatuation. Farrow and I haven’t spoken or seen each other since he left for an excruciatingly long shift at the hospital.
He said he probably wouldn’t even get time to text. Something about double shifts, low staffed. I don’t get how any of it works, but it’s been twenty-nine hours since I last heard from him. I’d be lying to say I haven’t been counting.
Twenty-nine hours without talking.
Twenty-nine hours without touching.
And with a high sex drive, that last one has me pent-up and resorting to jerking off more than usual. I typically try to come every day or else it feels like my balls are going to explode. Even on the FanCon bus, I managed to masturbate when Farrow and I couldn’t fuck.
Being horny—it’s nothing new for me. Being horny and having a boyfriend who’s not around all the time—that is new. I trust myself fully, and my hand is a decent alternative.
But I’ve never fantasized more about him than I have when he’s gone. I’ve replayed the first time he topped me on loop.
I tune out the bartender’s dirty martini instructions and pop open the text. Scanning the words, my spirits burst like the pop of a balloon.
Running late. Sorry, wolf scout. – Farrow
Before I type a reply, another text pops up.
I’m still going to make it. Save one of Jane’s terrible drinks for me. – Farrow
“Est-ce que ça va, Moffy?” Jane asks while measuring gin in a shot glass. Are you okay, Moffy?
“It’s Farrow.” I set my elbow on the bar, phone in hand. I reread the text. “He’s going to be late.” I look up. “Jane—”
Gin overflows her shot glass. “Merde,” she curses and sops up the spill with a dishrag. She flashes me a consoling look. “There’s a seventy-two percent chance your drink may cheer you up, old chap.”
I smile and reach for the martini. Just as another text pings.
Miss you – Farrow
My chest tightens. I quickly respond: no worries I’ll save u that drink
Lately I haven’t bothered typing out the correct spelling of “you” and I’ve stuck with just the letter. He’s gotten onto me about it a couple times, and it just makes me want to do it more.
I’m about to add “can’t wait to see u” but then I think about how it’ll make him feel. Maybe concerned. Like I’m sitting here pining for him and not living my own life. I can survive without Farrow around me all the time. But I do feel his absence.
I overthink the text. Typing and deleting and typing and deleting.
I take too long because Farrow replies first.
You okay? – Farrow
Fuck. I clutch my phone harder. Thinking. I don’t know how to do this. Large intense gaps of zero communication. We barely even used to text because we were with each other all the time. It’s weird to think back to the day he became my bodyguard. I couldn’t even imagine my childhood crush in my life 24/7, and now, not having him is a struggle.
And I’m overthinking again.
My phone rings. Great, Farrow is calling me.
But I’m selfishly glad he did. I think it would’ve taken me a solid millennium to type out a text.
I put my phone to my ear and reach for my mint-green drink. “I was texting you back,” I say before he can speak. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t want to take up your time or distract you—”
“Maximoff,” he cuts me off. “If I didn’t have time to call you, I wouldn’t have called you.”
I nod a couple times to myself. Alright. “How are you doing?”
“Good. Shit has finally slowed down.”
“I thought you liked the high-intensity stuff.”
“Not at the end of a shift.” He’s quick to ask, “You okay?”
“I’m alright. Just drinking this drink here…” I take a sip of the martini and as soon as the liquid hits my tongue, my cheeks pucker. Jesus Christ, Jane.
She notices. “Oh no. Too sour?”
“Yep.” My cheeks hurt.
“I’ll make you another.” She swipes my martini glass out of my hand.
On the phone, Farrow tells me, “I’m glad you’re having fun, wolf scout.”
I wish you were here. I rub my lips together before replying. “All the fun in the damn world. It’s a regular rager here,” I say dryly. “I’m planning on trying shrooms next. But the non-drug kind. Like a Cremini mushroom, maybe a Portobello.”