I spent an hour online doing further research; then I prepared a complete report for my client, attached it to an e-mail, and pushed the ‘send’ button. The glasses of wine I’d consumed during the process mellowed me more than a little bit, so I climbed into the lumpy bed, composed my thoughts, and contacted Nate.
{Nate, are you there?}
{Right here.}
{Busy?}
{I’m in bed watching television and waiting to hear from you. When are you coming home?}
{Damned if I know. I didn’t learn a lot today, so I sent an e-mail to the client asking him if he wanted to authorize another day or two.}
{Shit.}
{Exactly. I wish you were here.}
{Really?}
{Yeah, I could take my frustrations out on your ass.}
{That’s not funny.}
{Sorry, babe. I’m tired and frustrated.}
{Why don’t we do something about that frustration?}
An image of Nate lying naked and erect in bed hit me, and I forgot about my problems for a while.
When it was over, he sent,{Feel better now?}
{You know I do.}