I text him back.
Okay. That kind of sucks, but at least we hit a day of ovulation. When will you be back?
Sunday. We can get together next Monday, if that works for you.
Well, since we already hit the fertile days, we can wait till next month. I’ll be plenty busy with my art class anyway.
He types for a while, and I wait while I make myself some coffee.
Art class? Is that why you had paint all over your hands?
Kind of. I’m doing a workshop, and was playing around before it started.
I notice he doesn’t make a big deal about postponing our meeting. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or insulted. I’m very sure that I shouldn’t care.
That’s awesome. Where’s the workshop?
The Prince Art School.
He doesn’t text again for a while, and I’m already on the subway when his next message comes.
Holy shit. That’s amazing! Congratulations.
Thanks.
I find myself blushing even though he’s nowhere near, but I know him well enough that I know exactly how he said it. It wasn’t sarcastic in the slightest. If there’s one thing Christian’s good at, it’s believing in other people. He was always incredibly supportive while we were together, no matter what I wanted to do.
Once I get to work, the idea that I don’t know what Christian does anymore gnaws at me. So I do what any responsible woman does in the 21st century, I Google him.
And I have to pick my jaw up off the floor.
When we broke up, Christian was a construction manager. It paid well, and he liked what he did, but it was never his dream. I am completely unprepared to see that Christian Rollins is the head architect and CEO of one of the biggest architecture firms in the city. There’s his picture on the website, looking fucking stunning in a three-piece suit, smirking at the camera. But it’s not a spark that makes you hate him, it’s a spark that makes you want to be him, or fuck him.
“Who the hell is that?” Julia asks from behind me.
I groan. “My ex.”
“That doesn’t look like a man that should be anybody’s ex,” she says, giving me a look.
I almost make a comment that she can have him, but I bite it back. I’m not really ready to say that, even though there’s nothing between us but sex now. “Yeah,” I say, still looking at the picture.
Julia is laughing as she walks away.
It seems that more happened in the last two years than I realized. Now I feel really stupid for not asking him what he’s been up to.
So I googled you.
An almost instant response:
What did you find?
You’ve been busy.
I can almost sense him laughing wherever he is.
You could say that.
Three years is really fast to have a company as large as yours.
He types for a while before his response comes through.
I got hired as an architect at the company. They liked my style, so I got promoted, and eventually the CEO took notice. We became friends, and he made me a partner. He recently retired.
So they just made you CEO?
I am envisioning him typing into his phone, wearing that same three-piece suit and smirk that he has on in the picture in front of me.
It’s not quite that simple, but yeah.
Wow.
I’m glad you’re impressed.
Impressed is on the low end of what I feel, but I’m not going to tell him that. Aside from the fact that he’s done more in the last three years than I thought possible, I’m amazed that I didn’t hear about it. I suppose architecture firms aren’t exactly on the front page of the news, but I feel like one big CEOs retire there are always a couple of headlines.
I do a quick Google search to confirm, and sure enough, there are several headlines featuring that same picture of Christian announcing that he’s now CEO. Holy shit.
So this unexpected business trip?
We have clients in Chicago, and there was a problem in construction. With this type of building, it’s easier for me to go see in person. I’m the one who designed it, so I know it better than anyone, and unfortunately it’s a problem that can’t wait.
And here I thought you might be avoiding me.
Believe me, I’m not.
The next message comes through right away.
I would much rather have my tongue and my cock buried between your legs than figuring out why a load-bearing beam is cracking.
My face flames red as I imagine that. Arousal flows through me as I remember the way he used his tongue on me, the way I feel full when he’s inside me. There’s no other sensation like it, and I find myself suddenly wet, suddenly frustrated that he’s not in town.
And now you’re blushing.
No, I’m not.
You totally are.
I put my phone face down on my desk. Screw him for making me want him while he’s not here. The phone buzzes on the desk, and then it buzzes again. He’s still texting, but I won’t look at it. I won’t.