Chapter Four
The Cowboy
Siena, June 17, 2011, Washington, D.C.
Ryan didn’t fly backin a week. Or in two. He didn’t know when or if he’d be flying in because he was working around the clock. His boss—an unmarried, childless woman named Regina Korol—was a life-long workaholic and expected her underlings to outshine her. According to her, Ryan was a year behind on his starting day.
At least the only thing in danger now was his lunch hour.
I checked on the sleeping Austin and tapped my playlist. The soft strains of an Irish song about a lover’s futile longing filled the bedroom. I sighed and swiped to the text app. The last message was an impersonal one-liner from Connor Reat’s office:
The senator will see you tomorrow at noon.
He hadn’t moved the meeting this time although I’d prayed he would. Now that Ryan’s business trips to D.C. had ended, I discovered I didn’t want to do the mural, great pay or not. The only thing I wanted was to pack up and move to Dallas, so I could be with my love, so our little son could have his father, and so Guinness would stop howling at the front door every night.
Too late now.
Looking forward,I texted back.
I’d have to work extra fast. I scoffed. A fast pace would be a near impossibility with a three-wall mural. Why did it have to be three walls? Perhaps I could convince him to do just one. From what I saw, Connor Reat appeared to be given to convincing.
Young for a senator, he’d made a name for himself despite having switched both parties and positions on several critical issues in a stretch of six years. I searched an image of him. Tailored suit and celebrity features: mahogany gaze—friendly and direct, well-defined jaw with slightly jutting chin that gave him an air of confidence, an archetypical Roman nose, lustrous hair with specks of silver for additional gravitas. He had enough poise and charisma for the entire U.S. Senate.
I tapped on an older image: top shirt button undone, adorable infant son in his arms, pretty wife with two toddlers at his side. His opponent didn’t stand a chance three years ago—Connor Reat had gotten every female vote.
I put my phone on the nightstand and took out the silky black pouch from the drawer, contemplating the firm shape inside. It arrived yesterday wrapped like a present with a pink bow on top of the box and a small card inside with a single sentence written in Ryan’s hand:
Don’t touch until I say so or else...
I pulled the string and took the toy out. It was pink like the bow and felt pleasantly velvety to the touch. The little lever to the battery compartment gave way, and I dropped in the batteries, thoughtfully included in the gift box. The thing came to life with a soft buzz when I pressed the button. Now, I could tell Ryan I’d touched it. Then maybe he’d get on the plane to carry out his “or else...”
My phone chimed with a new message, and I winced. A perfunctory reply from the senator’s office. But when I saw the text, I dropped the toy into the pouch.
It was from Ryan: Video call.
In a sec, I replied, rushing to my vanity. A quick coat of mascara and some lip gloss would have to suffice. I shrugged, checking my reflection. It boggled the mind how these rare video calls had become like our first few dates six years ago.
After settling in bed, I fluffed my hair in the camera and tapped Ryan’s number.
He sat on his bed shirtless, holding a half-full whiskey glass. He looked good enough to eat.
“Is Austin asleep?”
“Yep.”
He took a swig. “Got the package?”
Wordlessly, I reached for the pouch and dangled it.
“Did you touch it?”
“Maybe.”
Ryan peered at me for a long moment. “Take off your top, love.”
“What, now—?”
He nodded.
I propped the phone against a pillow and pulled my t-shirt over my head.
He took another swig.
“Okay?” I sucked in my stomach and promised myself to restart my gym membership first thing tomorrow.
“Bra.” He motioned with his chin.
Holy crap, I’d never done long-distance sex with Ryan—or anyone. With or without a sex toy. I removed my bra, throwing a sidelong glance at myself in the camera. My breasts resembled two large white pumpkins, nipples taut and pornographically pointed from all the nursing.
Ryan drained his glass. “Leggings. And panties.”
I pursed my lips. I wasn’t ready for this—not at all—although, clearly, I should have been. I didn’t think it would be over a video call. I’d have hopped in a shower if I knew.
“C’mon, love, I don’t care.” He grinned. “You’re so goddamn hot either way.”
“Fine.” I yanked both down, wishing for a sip of his whiskey.
“Take your new friend and lean back.” Ryan put down his empty glass and pulled down his briefs.
I gasped at the sight. The camera added inches where none were needed.
“I wish you were here.” My teeth sank into the inside of my lip.
“I wish to see.” He placed a hand on himself, looking like a bona fide porn star. “Turn it on, love.”
The toy had a multitude of settings, but I soon found one I liked—it felt fractionally like Ryan. He must have done some research. The thing was high quality—quiet and efficient.
“As good as the real thing?” He chuckled a bit later, lying on his back, his phone camera hovering above his face.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I breathed, thinking that perhaps I should name it.
“You understand you may only use it when I call?”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then, you’ll have to face the consequences.”
“But how would I face them when you’re in Dallas?” I picked up the toy and ran my fingers along its velvety, flexible length. I would name it Cowboy.
“You’ll need to fly out. I’d like for you to meet my partner, anyway.”
“Right.” I tossed the toy aside. “What’s he like?”
“She.”
“Hm?”
“It’s a she.”
I blinked, struggling to keep my face neutral. The phone screen was suddenly too bright. A familiar dull ache—an infrequent carryover from my head trauma, usually caused by stress—spread into the center of my forehead.
I lowered the brightness with a stiff forefinger. “What’s she like?”
“Seems fine. Impressive pedigree and good experience.”
I breathed a surreptitious sigh of relief. She sounded older.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Oh, okay.” I stared at the Ouroboros tattoo on his shoulder, the snake forever eating its tail.
The throbbing in my head intensified. This woman, a year my junior, would be spending every waking hour with my husband—while I was thirteen hundred miles away, stuck painting a stupid three-wall mural for a sleazy politician.
I forced a smile. “Well, I’d love to meet her.”
Ryan was silent for a beat, studying my face. “Hey, she is my partner.”
“Of course!” My voice was so high-pitched, I wanted to kick myself.
He shook his head. “I know this whole thing sucks, but c’mon, love, let’s not lose our minds here. We still have a way to go before your move.”
I ordered my teeth to leave my lip alone. Yes, I was jealous—of his new job, his new furnished apartment, his new partner, his new life that didn’t include me. But I shouldn’t have let him see me insecure. Even if that was precisely how I felt for some unfathomable reason.
“Besides.” He winked, interrupting my aching brooding. “She’s not at all my type.”