by S. L. Scott
“I wear them in the cold, under my real pants.”
“I totally get that. I’m just impressed that even when you’re compressed like a sausage in a casing that you’re so . . .” She points. “Well endowed.”
“You had me at well endowed, V. Move over. I’m coming.” Mind. Gutter. Yup. It’s that easy for me to go there. Climbing out is a whole other case though. Standing next to her naked, if this is forgiveness, I’ll give it to her by the well-endowed loads. Ew. That’s not what I meant. Forget about it. “In.”
The space in here is not as roomy as mine, another downfall of modern design—efficiency. But I want to thank the architect personally right now. It’s not awkward. She just takes my hand and pulls me close, and I like close with her. While the water rains down on our bodies, she says, “You haven’t asked because you’re nice like that, but for the record, I’m still a virgin.”
Angels voices are heralded from the heavens, “The Rifle Regiment” is trumpeted from the battlefields of my heart, and “Best Day of My Life” starts playing in the jukebox of my head.
Beyond Big Richard standing at full salute, wanting her those ways that I forgot to look up for legality purposes, I try to play off how happy I am. “Oh that’s a bummer.”
“What?” She leans back in surprise. “You’re not happy?”
“No, I meant . . . I’m thrilled, fucking thrilled, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to be happy without it coming off that I’m damn happy that I might still have a chance.”
The warmth of her gaze and the brightness of her smile melt me on the spot. I recognize that look. I used to think she had hearts in her eyes, and that she was one good roll in the hay away from falling in love. It’s not what I see, it’s the torch I carry for her reflecting back at me. “You want a chance with me?”
I run my hand over her shoulder and rest it on the curve of her neck. This is it. This is my shot of owning that truth I’ve been living with since we met, the one that if she feels the same becomes the heavy weight champion for new best day of my life. The day I closed on the bar has been my reigning best for years now. It gave me the freedom to be who I wanted to be, to change the course of my life for the better, and lead me to standing in this shower stall with the most beautiful woman in the world, it deserves the title. This is my shot to not just be honest with her, but with myself. “I’m in love with you, Virginia Ryan.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God, you are?”
Damn, I didn’t predict that reaction. Stepping away, my back hits the cold tile wall and I run my hands through my hair. “Umm . . . yeah, I was hoping you felt the same.” Ugh. This day just beat out when I was fourteen and my sister found out I had stolen my grandmother’s Suzy Chapstick fitness book. She sold me out when she discovered some of the pages were stuck together. My mom pretended it was normal to talk about masturbation at the dinner table. My dad talked about hair on the hands and frostbite, or maybe it was how to handle blue balls. I forget now. But I will never forget that no one ate the hotdogs we had for dinner and that it was the worst day of my life. Until now. “This is so embarr—”
“No,” she says, moving against me and teasing my dick with her incredibly slick and sinful body. “I do too.” I dig my gaze up from where I’d just buried my heart at her feet and look into her vibrant greens. “I’m in love with you too, Hardy.”
I drop another silver dollar into my mind’s jukebox and “Best Day of My Life” starts back up. I’ll be putting it on permanent rotation on my phone, changing my ringtone, and buying tickets to see American Authors as soon as I get home. “I thought you were in love with that asshole.”
“I had a stupid crush on him, but I fell in love with you.” That sweet pink is back and it’s not from the hot water, but from me. Yep, this guy. I even pop the P. I’m owning that shit. That sweet pink is mine. All mine, and I’ve never felt happier about being pussy whipped. If it means I get to wake up next to Virginia every morning and go to bed with her each night, I’m in. I’m the whippiest of whipped.
I could say this is where I lifted her into my arms and carried her to bed, making sweet love to her on her birthday. You know, me as her gift. I’ve been told I’m quite the catch, after all. But that’s predictable. So I kiss her once, then again. And then her fantastic tits, because holy Jack fucking Daniels I’m kissing Virginia Ryan’s tits.
But we’ve waited this long, so we soap up and wash our hair, then I make her come so hard that Barry calls up to make sure she’s okay. That’s a lie, but it sounds more impressive than she practically collapsed in my arms from losing control of all the tension she’d been carrying. Hrm . . . maybe that does sound pretty damn good and since it’s the truth, that’s the story I’m sticking with.
By eleven, I have her waiting on the bed with the lights out. I light the candle and walk into the bedroom singing Happy Birthday really fucking loudly. I sound terrible, so I have a theory that if you sing at the top of your lungs people give you a pass on the sound of your voice.
Sitting on the end of the bed, I hold the cupcake forward, and say, “Make a wish, Virginia.”
She blows out the candle. “You’re here. I don’t need anything else.”
Leaning forward, I kiss her. Her hands cup my face, she kisses me again, and then says, “Actually, I do have one wish.”
“What’s that?”
Her request is my specialty. We’ve moved into the main part of the apartment and she’s sitting on the other side of her bar—topless because that was my end of the deal. It was only fair since I’m shirtless and pantless. Since we’re dealing with fire, she let me wear my boxer briefs. I toss the bottle into the air and catch it behind my back, whip it around and turn the cap, filling the glasses quickly. One twist. Two. When the orange garnishes are added to the whiskey, I get the lighter. “You ready?”
She nods excitedly, her eyes wide as she lifts up to get a good view. “It’s so sexy how you handle those bottles.”
“Wait until I handle you.”
“I’ve waited my whole life for it.”
“You know I’m a sure thing, right?” I ask, reminding her again. Lowering the lighter to the drinks, the fruit oil lights just how it’s supposed to. Virginia squeals in delight, and I pop my imaginary collar. Two quick puffs and the flames are out and I hand her drink to her. “Taste the smokiness. It magnifies the liquor, which is why you should always drink the good stuff.”
With her eyes closed, she savors the cocktail. I used to think cocktails were aphrodisiacs. They’re not. She is. Fuck, I’m hard. I think I’ll savor her all night long.
Dean Martin begins crooning “I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm.” I hold my hand out to her. “Dance with me.”
She takes it and I walk around, joining her in the living room. Pulling her close, I try to get as much of her body against mine. Snow is still falling outside, but inside—it’s warm and cozy. Leading with one hand, and the other on her lower back, we begin swaying to the music. She asks, “Will you go with me to the holiday party? We can party hardy.”
“Did you just make a punny?”
“I did,” she replies proudly.
“Well how can I possibly say no to that?”
“You can’t. Can you get a tux on such short notice?”
“I own one, so I’m good.”
Looking up at me, she says, “Why do I feel like there’s so much more to learn about you?”
“Good thing we have a lifetime ahead of us.”
“Be careful, Mr. Richard. I’m starting to see hearts in your eyes.’’
“I don’t want to be careful anymore. Careful lost us time. I don’t want to lose anymore with you.”
Her forehead drops to my chest and she sniffles, so I ask, “What’s wrong, V?”
She sniffles again, and then says, “You. This. It’s all so perfect.” Looking into my eyes, she grimaces. “I left tonight to spite you.” I don’t say anything. I can tell she needs to get this off her chest. “I was going to meet him to hur
t you.”
“What happened?”
“I got two blocks away and realized I didn’t want to see him. I wanted to see you. So I was going to walk to Brooklyn, but I got caught in this gusty area and lost my hat. And I didn’t have gloves because I had thrown them at you. I found a diner open and sat there warming up. I think I had three cups of coffee, but really I was thinking about what was happening between us.”
We part and she takes a blanket and wraps it around her. Sitting on the couch, I lift my arm. She curls into my side, and continues, “Katie O’Dowd told me you were a lost cause, that many had tried to hook, line, and sinker you, but you were going to remain a forever bachelor. You were so determined to stick to the lesson plan that I thought if I told you I was falling for you that you’d end the lessons and wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”
“I was only doing those damn lessons to spend more time with you.” She sighs, and I sigh with her. “We’re quite a pair.” I rub her arm, and ask, “Would you have gone through with the plan on New Year’s if we hadn’t had that fight?”
“I felt some pressure like I’d let you down if I didn’t, but I wouldn’t have. Until Isabella told me I had interrupted your time with her. Then I was determined to get rid of my virginity come hell or high water with Lowry.”
“I’m sorry about Isabella, that she said those things to you. It’s not true. I had comforted her because she’s going through a divorce. I should have known better.”
Angling up to face me, she smiles. “I know someone we can set her up with.”
“A match made in asshole hell?”
“Something like that.” Her hand snakes over my abs and starts going lower. “By the way, did you say yes or no to New Year’s Eve?”
Covering her hand, the pressure feels too good. My breath comes harsher through my nose, and I say, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“So can we say I love you anytime we want now that it’s out there in the universe?”
“I’m counting on it.” Lifting her up and onto my lap, I kiss her. When she opens her eyes, I say, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, but I have another question.”
“Ask away.”
“Do I still get lesson four, the final lesson?”
Flipping her down on the couch beneath me, I say, “I’ll be giving you the final lesson all right and then I’m going to test you over and over and over again.” My hips move between her legs.
Her giggles, punctuating the point I’m trying to make, and by point I mean we grind together until giggles turn to moans and I’ve given her the second gift of the night. What can I say? I tried to be humble but I’m an arrogant bastard, the king of orgasms, and as of tonight, Virginia Ryan’s boyfriend—my most distinguished title to date.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It is official.
We are official.
Despite a blizzard of epic portions, a girl too stubborn to see what was right in front of her, and a very handsome, some might even call him debonair, man who foolishly believed he had a say when it comes to matters of the heart, we did it. Not that. Unfortunately, we haven’t had sex yet. All for good reasons, but I’ll come back to that. I happily traded in my bachelor card for one lovely Ms. Virginia Ryan.
Seven days ago, we made an agreement to put this lesson plan and asshole business behind us. It’s worked out well for me. The weather is my friend, a supporter of love, and what I might have cursed that night, is now my ally. Since the storm grounded all flights, Virginia was stuck with me on Christmas. Game point to Richard. Her family was disappointed they didn’t get to see her, but they were thrilled to meet me on their video call. They had no choice. We were trapped in her apartment for two days. Match goes to Richard. Our Christmas gift to each other was easy—Hallmark movies, her choice. In bed, my choice. Naked. Both of our choices.
How we didn’t seal the deal is beyond my comprehension. Game point to Ryan. I’ve never had to wait to be with a woman. I’ve always dated women who were more than happy to lead the charge right into bed. What I’ve discovered is that I don’t need someone to lead the charge or to make it easy. I need Virginia. Match goes to Ryan. I need something that was real, something that I want for more than a few hours of fun. I want love. Not for just a few days, and when I look over at her sleeping soundly next to me, years comes to mind. Ladies and gentleman, Ryan and Richard have met their match—Winners all around.
Not to sound too sentimental, but she makes me want to break out in song and dance on the regular, and you’ve heard my theory on singing. Well, my dancing is okay. I know you thought I’d say something charmingly self-deprecating, but I have a few moves that might make Channing Tatum jealous. That’s a lesson for another day.
Love.
It’s all that matters. It controls almost all my thoughts and I look at life differently. It’s all consuming, heart filling, blood rushing. It’s magic for the soul, and we’ve got it in spades.
So when it comes to V’s V-card, she’s pounced me more times than I can count. It’s like that thing is burning a hole in her pocket she’s so anxious to spend it. It’s been a real damn feat keeping her off my junk. Big Richard has seen so much hand action that I needed lotion for the chaffing. On the bright side, cuz yeah, me getting off can’t really be on the dark side, it’s not me doing the work anymore. She’s become a sexual goodwill ambassador and my dick is the beneficiary. A sexual animal feeding for the first time with me as her prey.
Just last night I showed up at her place and within minutes, I was handed a beer “to sit back and relax,” then she proceeded to pin me to the window, the little minx, while she rubbed on the outside of my jeans. I drank that beer because it was damn refreshing, so was my view of the woman in front of me. Eye to eye with Big Richard, she looked up at me, and said, “Take your pants off. This job isn’t going to blow itself.”
I’m not gonna lie, beer spewed everywhere. But the shower we took more than made up for the fact that I was now dating myself in female form. Hot in some ways, mouthy and a lot cocky in others. But I digress . . .
When it comes to lesson four, it isn’t about the sex anymore. I’m a sappy sucker for love now. I even wrote Hardy hearts Virginia in the fogged up glass at the coffee shop two days ago. Luisa treated me to coffee, recognizing the old Hardy Richard is a thing of the past, and this new lovesick version is here to stay.
So when she finally does get that V-card stamped and turns it over to the sex commission, it has to be special. It has to be worth waiting all these years for. Fortunately, I’m the man with a plan. The man for her job. I’m on it, and plan to be in it, kissing it . . . you get the drift. After all, we’re #MFEO.
* * *
New Year’s Eve is booming in the hospitality sector. Running a popular business during the second biggest holiday for a bar means we were booked six months ago for a private party.
All the guys are working tonight—Romeo has a small audience of ladies hanging on his every cock tale. Clive is tossing bottles into the air and entertaining the crowd Cocktail style with flaming drinks. Leo has hit his stride and fits right in. He’s a solid tender, and has a regular clientele, including the fashion icon, Vittori, which brings the bar more press. Eddie has everything under control—the ladies, the liquor, and the party. I knew he was ready to take on the job.
As for me, that’s my name above the door, that one that shines on the glass. That means I get to cut out early and meet my girl just in time to kiss her under the midnight mistletoe.
I make my rounds and wish everyone a Happy New Year, including some of the ladies I used to spend private time with. Virginia has caused this goofy grin and I can’t seem to get it to go away. I don’t fight it too much. It kind of says everything about how I’m feeling these days, much to the ladies’ chagrin. But we always had an understanding, so even though I’m off the market, they wish me the best of luck. They also tell me to keep in contact, but I’ve already deleted that contact list from
my phone.
I wasn’t even bothered by deleting the numbers. I rarely used them anyway, but when I looked my sweet girl in the eyes and we committed to this relationship, it needed to be fully. Virginia has a jealous streak. I don’t want to feed the beast when she has nothing to worry about.
I receive a few catcalls and compliments when I’m leaving. Stealing Barry’s move, I tip my imaginary hat and rush out to catch a cab. At this stage, karma even thinks I deserve some nookie. I’ve been a very good boy this year and plan on being extra naughty tonight.
Yep, karma’s on my side when I’m able to get a taxi right away on one of the craziest nights in New York. “The Waldorf-Astoria, please.”
“Traffic’s bad. Just letting you know ahead of time.”
I hand him a fifty. “If we can cut some time off, that would be great.”
“I know some detours.”
Leaning back, I check my phone. There’s a text from my mom: Your dad has been fondling his balls for days. Should I be worried?
Me: What?
Mom: I bought some silver balls last time I was in the city that came in a cute Asian fabric covered box. I was told they would help spice up our love life. So far, he plays with them all day, instead of me.
Me: No. Not having this conversation. Happy New Year.
Mom: Happy New Year, Hardy. Dinner this Sunday. You’re bringing Virginia.
Me: Yes, Ma’am.
Next message is a photo from my dad with the message: Your mother got me these hand massagers for Christmas. You manipulate them around your hands with your fingers. I think they’re helping my arthritis. If you need a Valentine’s Day gift for Virginia, you can find these cheap in New York.
I’d bang my head on the plastic shield dividing me from the driver, but I don’t want to catch some disease, so I reply to him instead: Dad, those aren’t hand massagers.
His reply: What do you mean?
I’m not in the right state of mind to explain what Ben Wa balls are tonight. It’s a Big Richard downer. I type: I can’t do this over text. Let’s have a drink later this week. Come by the bar. Happy New Year.