The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

I smile. “You did?”

“Uh-huh, they’re motorized, so I will be whipping your ass on park runs from here on in. Just thought I should warn you.”

God . . . she’s so refreshingly normal. When has a woman ever called me to tell me she bought new sneakers? “I highly doubt that.”

“Oh hell, you won’t believe what happened last night,” she continues. “Molly’s ex-husband took two Viagra, maybe three, and passed out while he was driving because he had no blood left in his body because it was all in his dick, so we had to take him to the ER.”

I laugh out loud. “What the hell? Is that a thing?”

“Yes, it’s a thing. Who knew?”

I widen my eyes. Jesus. “I’ll have to stop taking it, then,” I tease.

She laughs. “No, it’s okay. I completely know what to do now. Passing out is well worth it. You stay on that shit—we just need to tourniquet it. I’ve got us covered.”

We both laugh and then fall silent.

“Three days,” I murmur.

“Three days,” she repeats.

God, I’ve never been so anxious to get home in my life.

“What are you doing now?” I ask.

“I’m about to put a face mask on and take a bath with cut-up cucumber over my eyes. You’re missing out on a real visual sensation over here.”

“No doubt.” I smile. This woman is so naturally beautiful. She doesn’t try to be something she’s not. I love that about her.

I love a lot of things about her . . .

“So you’ve added cucumbers to your beauty regimen now?” I ask.

“Yeah, it’s supposed to make you less puffy.”

I smile broadly. “Cucumbers are good for a lot of things. Maybe it should be added to our sexual regimen as well.”

She bursts out laughing. “You’re a sicko, Mr. Miles.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I’ll let you go.”

I smirk as I look out the window. “Goodbye, Emily.”

“Goodbye, Jay,” she whispers. The phone goes dead, and I head back into the boardroom and take a seat.

Christopher is now talking about something, and I take my seat next to Elliot.

He leans over and whispers, “You have Zuckerberg on speed dial now?”

“Huh?” I frown.

“FB . . . that stands for Facebook, right?”

I frown and then realize he’s talking about the call from Emily.

FB stands for fuck bunny, not Facebook. I smirk, and then I pinch the bridge of my nose as my chuckle breaks through.