Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Ellie smiles sympathetically. “This job is only temporary though. You’re returning to publishing soon. So if you want more with him, are you truly risking so much?”
We only enjoyed an interlude. Maybe a night together is a reasonable risk after all.
“I do want something,” I say, shoulders square, chin up. Already I feel lighter. It’s freeing to admit what I want. These last few weeks, I’ve been stressed about the new job, the old job, the future job, the side job.
But I’ve also been wound up about defining what I want after dark.
Now I know precisely what I want.
Milo.
I haven’t slept with anyone yet because I haven’t met someone who excites me this much. The zing I feel with Milo is real. It’s real in bed and out of bed. “But I have no idea if he wants more than one time,” I say.
Ellie squeezes my thigh. “And you won’t know till you tell him you do.”
I shudder. “Now, that’s scarier than admitting I’m the friendly neighborhood virgin.”
Back home, after we’ve finished the wine and done the dishes, I focus on other horrifying things, like my future as an editor. Settling into my spot at the kitchen table, I check job listings in the book business. I’m into my sixth week of exile and, aside from Milo, no one has discovered my secret identity, so I decide to put out the feelers a little sooner than planned. I’ll spit shine my cover letter and then send some emails.
With that decided, I pop onto my balcony, soaking in the warm July air, staring at the few stars I can make out in the city sky. But stargazing is just an excuse. Soon, I check the sidewalk, hoping that Milo might walk by.
I stay like that for several minutes, elbows resting on the railing, watching my mostly quiet block at ten-thirty at night. My phone’s back on, but it remains silent in my pocket. Only a few hours have passed since I saw him. There’s no real rush to hear from him.
Yet my entire column is about taking charge of desires.
And I have things to say to the man.
I take out my phone and start writing things like . . . that was amazing, and I want to see you again, and what you did to me was better than my imagination, and are you free tomorrow night?
I’m typing as the device buzzes. When I see his name pop into my texts, I’m the one buzzing.
* * *
Milo: First, is it weird that I think Iris’s baby looks like an old man? Second, how did StudMuffin like his new daycare? Third, the whole time I was visiting the baby, it’s possible my mind was entirely elsewhere.
* * *
I’m a little giddy. Okay, a lot giddy. I head inside and snap a shot of my dog sleeping with his tongue sticking out, then attach the pic.
* * *
Veronica: First, babies are weird. Second, see attached. Third, where was your mind?
* * *
Milo: Top of my list of questions I’d ask a dog if they could talk—Why do you sleep with your tongue out?
* * *
Veronica: What else is on that list?
* * *
Milo: Why did you just bark? How long did you actually think I was gone? And can you teach me how to shake like that post-shower?
* * *
Veronica: You do indeed keep lists in your head.
* * *
Milo: I told you so.
* * *
Veronica: Also, the dog water-shake is the ultimate life hack. We would never need towels.
* * *
Milo: Except to clean up the water on the floor from the water shake.
* * *
Veronica: Curses! We will never be free from the tyranny of towels.
* * *
Milo: So true. Also, your dog is cuter than a baby.
* * *
Veronica: Well, obvs. And thanks. Yours too.
* * *
Milo: And to answer your third question—where was my mind—here goes. For the entire ride to Brooklyn, then the entire time I hung out with Iris, Joel, and Danny, then the entire ride home, I replayed those fifteen minutes we spent right outside my office. Fuck, that was hot, Veronica.
* * *
My neck flushes as I replay the evening too. And since he’s being open, I do the same.
* * *
Veronica: But I left you hanging. I hope you can forgive me and let me make it up to you.
* * *
With a deep breath, I read my very forward note one more time, then brace myself to take a chance. I hit send. He replies in seconds.
Milo: You can make it up to me anytime.
* * *
My smile is bigger than the sky. With my phone in hand, I dance around my apartment as I finish getting ready for bed. A few minutes later, when I slide under the sheets, I re-read his last note. It brings the tingles once again.