by Stella
My face flamed with heat, which wasn’t a normal thing that happened to me. I wasn’t easily embarrassed and didn’t often have an outward show of it when it did happen. When I finally broke her stare and glanced around the table, I noticed no one else had heard her question. Carl had his back to us, handing out what looked like a business card to who I could only assume was a relative of either the bride or groom. Jasmine leaned close to Christopher while they whispered back and forth, as if sharing a secret the rest of us weren’t privy to. And then there was Lexi, who took a bite of bread from the basket in the center of the table, clearly unfazed by CeeCee’s off-the-wall inquiry.
I leaned into the table and to the side, almost draping myself over Lexi, and asked, “Wait…what?” Well, it was more of a hiss than actual words, because really, I didn’t care for her to repeat herself, so I wasn’t exactly asking her to say it again.
“Lexi told me you were her first. I should’ve come to you for advice.” She shook her head in disappointment, which I could only assume was toward herself. “She told me all about how amazing it was and how you took your time with her. I wish I would’ve thought about that before.”
I glanced at Lexi, only to see her put another piece of bread sopped in oil into her mouth. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to find any of this odd. Then again, it was CeeCee, so I guess nothing should’ve come as a surprise where she was concerned.
“Did you just lose your virginity in a church bathroom?” I wanted to laugh. But I didn’t.
CeeCee’s eyes widened, as if my question was so appalling she couldn’t believe I’d ask it. “No.” She waved me off and dropped the shocked expression. “I lost it on the beach. Well, not on the beach. It was in a bungalow—”
“Stop.” I held my hand up to keep her from telling me more than I needed to know. We were in Atlanta, not a beach in sight, and they were gone for fifteen minutes at most, so it was safe to assume the answer to my question was no.
Lexi brought her lips close to my ear and whispered, “Christopher was the virgin.”
Well, that changed everything.
“So he just lost his virginity in a church bathroom?” I cut my eyes to the man on the other side of CeeCee and took note of his goofy grin. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“I just wish I had thought to ask you for advice first.”
“Why?” That came out a little louder than anticipated.
CeeCee rolled her eyes and released a sigh of dismissal. “Because, Patrick, that”—she hitched her thumb over her shoulder as if gesturing toward wherever it was they did the deed—“was not the same as the story Alex told me about the first time you guys made love.”
I opened and closed my mouth several times in a lame attempt to explain the difference to her, but no words would form. I had nothing. Not one single syllable to offer her. Instead, I just shook my head and sat upright in my seat.
“Was it bad?” Pity dripped from Lexi’s words when she finally decided to join the conversation.
“No. It was just really awkward.”
Lex laughed softly under her breath and patted CeeCee’s hand on the table. “I’m sure it’ll be better tonight when you two get home. There’s so much going on here with all these people around, and it being his first time…awkward is normal.”
“See? This is why you’re going to make the best doctor.” CeeCee’s nose scrunched. “Actually, I don’t think you should even call yourself a doctor. That can be very confusing to a lot of people. Plus, you don’t want anyone to question why you aren’t licensed. You’re definitely more of a therapist—well, no, not a therapist, either.” She pulled her mouth to one side in thought—and coincidentally, something nearby was burning. “If I had to pick a word to call you, I guess it’d be advocate. You’re like a relationship advocate.”
Lexi turned to me with bright, excited eyes, the corners of her glossy lips tugging up just slightly. “That’s it. Lexi Cacinicz: Personal Relationship Advocate.”
It didn’t matter to me what she called her business—or empire as Tweedledee and Tweedledum liked to refer to it. She could literally call herself Dr. Cock Sucker for all I cared. However, this new title filled me with such mixed emotions I wasn’t sure how to sort through them. Rather than address my biggest issue with it, I simply said, “I love that you want to go by Lexi and not Alex.”
Over the last several weeks, the whole name thing had been a joke. It seemed we all called each other something different, which led to quite a few misunderstandings—not much of a surprise there, considering the company we were in. Lexi hadn’t referred to me as Patrick since we left Seneca, and it didn’t take long before Jasmine was back to calling me Chris. Carl, however, hadn’t decided quite yet what name he wanted to use for me. He said he had to test them both out and see which one felt the best. CeeCee was the only one in the group who refused to stop using Patrick, and that was solely because of her new husband—she said it confused her to call me Chris. I didn’t question it. That would’ve been pointless. And so far, I was still the only person who didn’t refer to Lexi as Alex. And I had to admit, it was nice to hear she’d stopped denying the nickname I’d given her in college.
“That’s a dumb idea.” Carl slapped the table, commanding our attention. “No one can pronounce your last name, let alone spell it. How do you expect them to find you in a Google search? And it’s kinda hard to get referrals when your clients can’t say your name.”
“I don’t care, Carl. It’s my name. It’s never stopped anyone else from finding me or sending referrals my way.”
“He’s right.” Those two words tasted like soured milk, and I hoped to God I never had to say them again. “I like the advocate part, but I do agree that maybe we should keep looking for the right name.”
Her smile told me she appreciated my honesty, though the green in her eyes dimmed with disappointment. Maybe it was discouragement. I couldn’t be sure, just that my opinion didn’t make her happy.
“Don’t worry, babe. We’ll find the perfect name soon. I promise.”
The reception was nice and short, much like the wedding. Except this time, it was Christopher who started running everyone off. Apparently, he liked the sample and wanted the real thing. I couldn’t blame the guy. I was desperate to get Lexi home, too. And by home, I meant my house, where we’d have no interruptions. I made her agree to it days ago, so I was fully prepared for real alone time.
Lexi came out of the bathroom in long flannel pants and one of my old T-shirts, ready for bed. I smirked, knowing we would not be getting much sleep tonight, so this show of hers was a waste of time. And true to her word, she lowered the elastic waistband to prove she had put on panties—we both knew that wouldn’t discourage me.
“I have an idea for your business name,” I announced while digging through the top drawer in my dresser. “I know you used doctor before, and you liked CeeCee’s idea of using advisor or advocate or whatever it was. But I see you as more of a professor.”
Lexi sat on the edge of the bed when I approached, and then parted her legs so I could stand between them. “Oh, yeah? Professor what?”
The way she stared up at me with bright eyes and a hint of a grin on her smooth lips made me want to stop and take it all in. Take her all in. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever get enough of her, even if I lived to be a thousand years old.
But rather than gawk at her like this was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her, I dropped to my knee. I lifted my hand, offering her the diamond ring I’d held onto for years, and took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how ready I was for this, because nothing could’ve prepared me for the tears in her eyes, or the gasp she released at the sight of the ring between my fingers.
“I was thinking Professor Moore. It’s catchy…and you could totally use it in some corny catchphrase like: teaching relationships and Moore.”
“W-when did you get this? I mean…when did you plan this? Or think about it? Or…whatever it’s called.” Whe
n she caught my smirk, she was able to calm down enough to smile and laugh at herself. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this. I had no idea you were planning to ask me to marry you. Wait…you are asking me, right?”
“Yes,” I said with a laugh. “At least that’s what I’m trying to do. Let me try again. Alexia Cacinicz, if you’ll have me, I’d love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life loving you and showing you every single day that you’re my number one. Will you marry me?”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me to her until our mouths crashed together. There was a “Yes” in there somewhere, but it was full of emotion and then cut short by our lips. I would’ve made her repeat it, except that would mean I’d have to stop kissing her, and that wasn’t about to happen.
I only pulled away when I nearly dropped the ring. That’s when we both remembered I had it, and that it belonged on her finger, not pinched between mine. So I slid it past her knuckle, relieved it still fit, and watched as she admired it in the light from my nightstand.
“Really, Chris…when did you plan all this?”
“Do you happen to know where we were six years ago today?” I checked the time on my watch. “Almost to the hour, six years ago.”
Her brow furrowed while she blinked in thought.
“It was the night we met up at Bobby’s after you went and looked at that apartment.”
“The night you found out about DIT.” Her voice was soft, almost melancholy. “That was six years ago today?”
“Yeah. The only reason I even knew about the acceptance letter that day was that I’d gone back to my dorm before dinner. I’d gone back to get this ring, because I had planned to ask you to marry me that night. I happened to see the envelope as I was heading out the door.”
“This ring?”
“Same one. I refused to believe we were truly over, so I held onto it and did what I had to do to get another chance to put it on your finger. I messed up the first time, and I swore I wouldn’t fuck it up again.”
“I love you, Chris.”
I covered her lips with mine and pressed against her until I had her flat on her back. “I love you, too. So damn much.”
Lexi pulled her legs up and dug her heels into the mattress. I didn’t need to see what she was doing to know she had her thumbs hooked into the waistband of her pants, in the midst of removing her bottoms.
Smiling into the crook of her neck, I whispered, “I knew I’d get you out of your panties tonight.”
“As soon as we’re done, they’re going back on.”
I backed away, still hovering above her, and met her stare. Mirth shined brightly back at me. Even if I didn’t know she was bluffing, she knew I’d burn her panties before allowing her to climb into bed with them on.
“That’s fine, because I’ll never be done with you, Lex. Never.” And I meant it.
“Promise me one thing,” I whispered into her hair in the dark, with her warm, naked body pressed against mine. “Please promise our wedding won’t be purple.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” She yawned and hugged me tighter. “I already have the color scheme picked out.”
“And what might that be?”
“Rose gold. Everything.”
“I hear the courthouse is nice this time of year.” I laughed when she slapped my chest.
Epilogue
Carl
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with this?” Oprah seemed skeptical that I was the man for the job.
“I’ve got this, Harpo.” I’d been waiting in the Green Room since I’d finished in hair and makeup.
Her staff all seemed on edge, but I was confident I wouldn’t let Alex down.
“You guys should look into installing a putting green in here.”
She tilted her head to the side, still unsure of what she faced. It was obvious she was worried I’d steal her thunder and wow her crowd. But I already had my hands full with Professor Moore. A talk show didn’t fit into the calendar this year. Although, if her people wanted to discuss the possibility of a full-time gig down the road, I could pencil it in.
“We’re on in five. And we have a crew on-site with Lexi Moore at the hospital so the audience will still get to interact with her.”
I was sure Alex was thrilled about that situation. Nothing like squeezing a baby out of your body at eight a.m. and then taping a show on national television two hours later. Hopefully, Candi worked her magic, or our brand would take a huge nosedive. No one would want to take relationship or sexual advice from a woman who looked like she’d been rode hard and put up wet with a baby suckling her teat.
Oprah didn’t wait for a response before she closed the door behind her. Seconds later, one of her staff—I think it was the girl who refused to tweeze anything other than my eyebrows—came to get me. I still didn’t understand why my request had been so off-putting.
“If you would follow me, please, Mr. Prescott.” She was a dainty thing but not my type. There wasn’t nearly enough snark in her or junk in her trunk to spark my interest. I liked them sassy and able to match me wit for wit. Co-workers were even better since they couldn’t say I didn’t spend any time with them or that they felt neglected. By default, they got forty hours of my time per week. And being able to talk sex and relationships on the clock meant they were fulfilled in all the ways chicks needed while I impressed the boss.
The first mention of waxing anything below the neck and this girl hightailed it down the hall as fast as her cheeks blushed. The mention of a penis in daily conversation would probably have her in a confessional with a priest clinging to a rosary. Nope, there was definitely no room for her on our staff, and I doubted Jasmine would take kindly to her showing up in our bedroom. Technically, it was still her bedroom, but just because I didn’t pay rent didn’t mean I didn’t live there. Having a key was overrated.
“Right behind you.” Too close apparently. She stopped to say something, and I ran into her back. “Sorry.”
We meandered down the hall of the studio where she dropped me off next to a handful of people. “Scott,” she pointed to the only man in the group, “will tell you what to do. Just…stay put until then.”
Geez, I wandered off to scope things out one time, and this place went crazy. I could follow directions. I was great at taking orders—that’s how I landed this gig, to begin with. Even when Oprah scolded me for checking my email on her computer in her office, I took my feet off the edge of her desk and hopped right up.
I chanced a glance at the audience and knew I’d have these women eating out of the palm of my hand in no time. No female could resist the Prescott charm.
Oprah’s intro music played, and things got quiet around the set. This place was like a well-oiled machine. The rest of the group, minus Scott, scurried off to do whatever it was they did, and he leaned in to speak. He pointed to the stage, and the crowd all stood. “See that couch?”
“How could I not? It’s the only thing on the stage other than O’s chair.” These people must think I’m blind.
“Do not run to it. Do not leap over it. Do not profess your love to your girlfriend while jumping on it. Simply wave to the audience as you walk out and then take a seat on the far left.”
“My left looking at it or sitting on it?”
“Seriously? The left next to Oprah’s chair.”
“What if she wants to sit on the couch with me? Won’t that put her in the wrong angle from the camera? I mean I assume she sits there because it’s her best light. If I’m at that end and she wants to move—”
“She doesn’t want to sit next to you.”
“Then why do I need to sit on that end of the couch? Will someone bring me water or something that I need to be close to the end for?” There was a little table between Harpo’s chair and the couch I’d been told was mine.
“No, dude. This isn’t a restaurant.”
I held my hands up in surrender. Clearly, these people weren’t the perfectionis
ts I was and didn’t care if their guests had all the information they needed to give a stellar performance. “Got it. Left side of the couch.”
The crowd erupted like Magic Mike had just taken the stage and they couldn’t wait to place their dollar bills in his G-string, and then Oprah appeared from the opposite side of the studio to greet them.
“Welcome!” She drew out the word the way only Oprah could. I wondered if she’d patented that the way Michael Buffer had “Let’s get ready to rumble.” I couldn’t stifle the laugh when the image of the Talk Show Queen on WWE announcing a match came to mind.
Scott smacked me across the chest and then whispered into his lapel. I hoped he had some sort of microphone there and wasn’t just talking to himself—he was a tad strange and terribly aggressive.
“Last month, I featured a special author in my book club.” The women in the audience had taken their seats and now focused on Oprah like she was the Messiah. Hanging on her every word. She held up a copy of Alex’s book that hit New York Times Bestseller List a week after it released. “Lexi Moore is a debut author who is shaping the way women approach men and sex. Empowering them to regain control of their relationships in this tell-all book, Moore Power, about her undercover journey as an intimate trainer and relationship expert, to her multimillion-dollar company, Professor Moore.”
She rambled on about something else I tuned out in favor of scoping out the food table. The second I took a step toward the delicious-looking pastries, Scott grabbed my arm and shook his head. This guy was a killjoy.
“Please welcome to the stage, the marketing director for Professor Moore, and close personal friend of the woman behind the craze, Carl Prescott!”
Scott pushed me toward the stage. “That’s your cue.”
As if I hadn’t recognized my own name.
I followed Scott’s instructions to the letter. Walking slowly to maximize camera time, I turned to the crowd as I moved and waved in Richard Nixon fashion to my fans and blew them a few well-timed kisses. They swooned, as did Oprah. I knew I’d win her over—it just took a little Prescott charm. And she was bowled over by the hug I gave her as I shifted her back and forth.