It’s F-U-C-K-I-N-G exhausting.
After I log Mildred’s new order in my spreadsheet, it’s time to make a call I’ve been putting off because I’ve been so overwhelmed already.
The husky voice I haven’t heard since last summer answers on the second ring. “Chloe?”
“Hello, Dune.”
“Are you finally taking me up on the booty call?”
I laugh, as does he, in a good-natured way. “Sorry, no.” But I plan on taking him up on his friend’s discount.
“That’s too bad,” he says with a smile in his voice. “How have you been?”
“Good,” I say, amazed at my ability to have a civil conversation with an ex-boyfriend. I’d probably still be just all right to Adam, though. “How’s life treating you? Still living on the edge?”
“Can’t complain. I’m on a ride with the brothers out in California. Finally, I swam with sharks.”
“Wow, really? How was it?”
His commitment to endangering his life is admirable.
“It was amazing. You would’ve loved it.”
Ha. His statement is proof he never knew me. “Doubtful, but I’m glad you got to check it off your list. Did you know California has one of the highest concentrations of sharks in the world?” Which is why I’m content swimming in a pool if I ever go there.
He chuckles. “I probably should have known that, but I swam first and asked questions later.”
Our conversation drifts to catching up on life that’s transpired since our breakup. He tells me that a pet psychic suggested Coco start going on hikes with him. He puts her in a little backpack and she frightens off bears with her face. He didn’t say the part about the bears, but it’s probably true. He tells me Angel and Jackal got engaged and I tell him about Charlotte’s wedding and Mae’d With Love’s success. It’s all very adult.
“That’s awesome,” he says. “Hope you’re using a spreadsheet to keep track of your finances.”
“I am. Speaking of finances…are you still available to do my taxes?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “And don’t forget the discount for bringing friends.”
“Thank you.” I smile, because truly, it feels like Dune is a friend too. And I’m glad. Like Ryan, just because we didn’t work out in a romantic sense doesn’t mean we don’t work as friends. Granny Mae always says to surround yourself with people you wouldn’t mind getting stuck on a desert island with and I agree.
I’ve never remained friends with my exes, and I’m certain this is another symptom of my new level of adulthood. I’m so mature.
By the time we’re off the phone, and I’ve mentally patted myself on the back a few more times, I’ve scheduled an appointment in a couple of weeks for myself, Charlotte, and Austin.
I’ve hardly set the phone down when it buzzes with a text from Ryan.
Is it Ex-Boyfriend Day? Nothing on the calendar. It might be a moon sign thing, though. The text says to check my email, which I do. Gasp.
He’s forwarded an opportunity to apply for a curator position at a gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico that I would never have the guts to apply for if not specifically recommended to it.
“These are the responsibilities I’m looking to fill in this curator position,” a man named Dominic says in the email.
I scan the list he’s provided to see what I can check off within my capabilities.
Managing new collections by recording and cataloging artwork. (Check.)
Researching objects to document identification and authentication. (Check. Check.)
Planning and executing exhibitions, including the presentation of artwork, as well as writing acquisition and exhibition proposals. (Check. Check. Check.)
“Training of staff on the exhibition’s presentation and information is involved,” he writes, “so they’ll need to be a people person. I know you’re an artist with connections, so if you know anyone qualified, send them my way.”
It’s a dream job. And as the email chain reads, Ryan has already recommended me to the owner, whom he knows. How did I get so lucky in the ex-boyfriend department? Even if I don’t pick good boyfriends, I sure pick good ones to break up with.
“I think this position suits you and your knowledge. Dominic is a great guy,” Ryan says in the forward. “We did ayahuasca together at an art retreat. I’d trust him with my life. Don’t ever bring up monkeys around him, though.”
“Thank you for recommending me, Ryan,” I reply. “I’ll be sure to never mention that Alexander I, the king of Greece, died from sepsis after one of his pet monkeys bit him.”
I slam my laptop shut. This is…wow. Just wow. I don’t have time to process this opportunity because I’ve got to start throwing my next round of plates for Mae’d, but…boy, the thought of leaving this stress for the job of my dreams is a fantasy I can get behind.
For now, I can only get behind the pottery wheel to fill more orders. I ready the clay and when the phone rings again, I half worry it’ll be Finn, but luckily, it’s Logan calling from Albuquerque.
Is it a sign? The universe needs a decoder ring.
“Hey, you,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Just doing some work.” I tuck the phone between my shoulder and cheek so I can multitask and throw clay while talking, because that’s how behind I am. “What’s up with you?”
“Well,” his voice lowers to a seductive hush, “if you really want to know…my dick.”
“Oh my.” A current zips to my core upon hearing his dirty words. I’m not a sexpert on the phone and it certainly shows in my next question. “Do you need to do something about…that?” So far, since he’s been away, our phone conversations have been brief, and certainly not naughty, so this is unexpected.
“Yeah,” he says, breathing a bit heavier. “I’m so horny. Are you alone?”
Austin isn’t home, but I feel like he is, so I whisper, “Yes. Tell me more.”
I nearly spin the clay off the wheel when he says,
“I’ve had this ache in my cock for weeks. Even my balls ache. And I’m lying here in the hotel room,” he moans, “stroking myself. It would turn me on so much more if you were touching yourself too.”
“That’s so hot,” I murmur. “Continue.”
There’s no reason I can’t finish this plate while he pleasures himself. It’s not like he’ll know I’m fondling clay instead of myself.
“I’m thinking about your pussy, how tight and trimmed it is, and how I’d love to be in it right now.”
“Yeah?” Gah. The erotic sounds he’s making have me squirming in my seat, but I just need a couple more minutes to finish this plate. The wheel whirls and my hands glide along the wet clay as I stall for time. “What else are you thinking about?”
My tactic works. Phone sex is pretty easy. You just ask a lot of questions.
“I’m thinking about you licking this pre-cum off the head of my dick. I’m rubbing it with my thumb, imagining it’s your tongue.“
He groans so loud, an earthquake of desire rumbles through my body. Screw the plate. I wash my hands and power walk to my bedroom. Though I wasn’t prepared for phone sex, and this isn’t my niche, my inner sex monster can wait no more.