Ryan: He did mention at Sal’s last appointment it would take a while…but what are you trying to get at here?
Me: Well, I’m trying to get at the fact that I’m a genius and you’re going to love this brilliant idea I have.
Ryan: LOL. Do tell.
Me: If I manage to reschedule Stella’s appointment so it’s also at noon, then that means you and I will have an uninterrupted three hours of time to do whatever the fuck we want.
Ryan: Don’t tease me, Carly.
Me: But what will we do with all that time?
Ryan: Considering Dr. Samson’s office is only five minutes from my dad’s house, I have lots of ideas.
Me: Just tell me this…do those ideas include us naked?
Ryan: 100%. Every single one of them.
Oh, hell yes.
Come hell or high water, I will get my mom’s appointment rescheduled.
My horny vagina’s life depends on it.
And what about your heart? Pretty sure she’s a part of this equation too.
October 6th, Tuesday
Stella
I stare out the passenger window of my SUV while my daughter drives us out of the parking lot of First Watch and in the direction of Dr. Samson’s office.
Personally, I would’ve preferred to enjoy another cup of hot tea, but Carly was adamant about getting out of the restaurant at quarter till noon.
A real brunch buzzkill, if you know what I mean.
“I still don’t understand why we had to leave so early. My appointment isn’t until three. What on earth are we going to do for three hours in Dr. Samson’s waiting room, Car?”
She sighs and flashes a glare in my direction. “Mom, I already told you fifty times. It got moved up.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Honestly, she probably did, but sometimes, if I’m too busy texting with Sal or chatting with my TikTok friends, I might ignore her a little bit.
“Yes, I did,” my daughter says through another sigh. “You’re just not very good at listening.”
“Why on earth would they move my appointment up?”
“I don’t know.” Carly shrugs while keeping both hands on the wheel. “Maybe they had some cancellations or something?”
“Cancellations? They never have cancellations. Everyone loves Dr. Samson. They covet his appointments like they’re winning lotto tickets.”
Not even kidding. It took my friend Belinda over two months just to get an appointment for her flu shot.
“Well, you’re not seeing Dr. Samson today,” Carly updates. “You’ll see him next week. You’re just seeing the physical therapist.”
“What?” I turn slightly in my seat to stare at her. “I have to wait until next week for Dr. Samson to tell me that I’m good to go?”
“Yes,” she replies. “And don’t get too far ahead of yourself on the whole good-to-go thing. You need to get through the PT eval and prove that to them first.”
“That’s so dumb. Why did you schedule it like that?”
“I didn’t,” she retorts. “His office made me do it like that. I guess he needs time to chat with the physical therapist about your evaluation before seeing you.”
Darn it. Instant disappointment fills my belly.
Today, I was hoping I’d get the green light for being fully independent again without any activity restrictions—aka the go-ahead to get freaky-deaky with my Sal.
But now I have to wait another whole week?
This couldn’t be worse news. It’s been a month since the accident. Which means it’s been a whole thirty days since I’ve been able to get busy with my tiger.
Though I’m not going to mention that to Carly. She’ll get all prudish like my eldest daughter, Willow. It’s as if the two of them expect my sex life to disappear because I’m no spring chicken anymore.
But the truth is, when you meet a man like Sal Miller, your sex life only gets better, if you know what I’m sayin’.
I cross my arms over my chest and stare out through the windshield. This day has officially gone to hell in a handbasket.
“It’s going to be fine, Mom,” Carly tries to reassure me. “I’m sure a week from now, Dr. Samson will be happy with what the physical therapist found and will be ready to take away all activity restrictions.”
“Whatever.” I blow out a frustrated breath, but then a question pops into my brain. “Wait…which physical therapist am I seeing today?”
“I have no idea. Does it matter?”
“Does it matter? Of course, it matters. When you’re my age, shit like that always matters, Car.”
She glances at me out of her periphery. “I don’t even know what you’re saying right now.”
“I’m saying that I hope I’m booked with Shawn Rutherford today.”
“Who is Shawn?”
Shawn Rutherford is a thirty-year-old cutie patootie. And while I love my Sally more than anything, sometimes a woman can use a little assistance from enjoyable eye candy to help her get through a tough day.
I roll my eyes. “He’s only the hottest male physical therapist in Dr. Samson’s practice. Geez, Carly. Get with the program.”