by C. L. Donley
After awhile I set my sights on other male dancers who were either hopelessly gay or flat out not into me. I was addicted to this pattern of behavior. They were all different shapes, sizes and colors. Nice, sometimes gorgeous, strong, knew how to dance, could be trusted to lift me up and, being otherwise uninterested in me, were completely 100% safe. And in the event they were the lead opposite me, we spent hours and hours in the same space, touching each other, failing together, learning together.
I fell in love with each and every one of them, and I learned over time to keep it virtually undetectable, should they ever decide to declare reciprocal love for me. It was a scenario I couldn’t help wanting. Two dancers, passionate about the same things and each other, it just seemed so perfect. So hot.
But it’s an embarrassingly unsuccessful strategy, and now that dream is seeming more and more unlikely.
So now it’s time for plan B: to bang someone hot, somewhere that requires a passport. This weekend I will let my smile go to full wattage and welcome whatever attention it brings me, unsolicited or not. Maybe I’ll even flirt. It was going to require some killer timing, but with my girls here to lift my spirits and make me feel like Beyonce in Destiny’s Child— or at least Kelly Rowland— there’s no reason Operation Proper Virginity Sendoff (OPVS) can’t be 100% successful.
Twenty Two
Chapter 22
Mya
The trip is split between two private jets: Me, Amara, Sam and Rosetta took the 12 hour trip on one while Grayson, Dale, Bel and Bryan took the same trip on another. My suspicions were correct— private jets are completely great. If Kim had been able to take the day off work we could’ve picked her up on the way while we refueled, but as it stands she won’t get in to Spain until the following morning. I can’t wait to not be the 3rd or 5th or whatever odd wheel I am anymore. It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other. Kim missed Amara’s entire pregnancy and birth, so it’s going to be quite a shock for her.
We land at 1am in Madrid. Tomorrow we’ll fly an hour to the castle in San Sebastian where the ceremony will be and also where we’ll be staying. I’m trying to take in as much of the city as I can from the taxi window, which is lively and bustling at 1am and it reminds me of being in New York, at Julliard. That is, if New York was covered in old Roman architecture. It’s Amara’s first time in the city too, and the first time in a long time we’ve experienced something new together. I’m glad to see Amara hasn’t yet become jaded with her new lifestyle. My hopes rise even more for the weekend.
We slept little on the plane, and when we get to the hotel we should be exhausted, but instead of course, we’re wired. So are the guys it turns out.
“The guys want to hang out on the roof,” Amara paraphrases as she reads her phone text.
“I hate Kim for not being here right now,” I say.
“Kim’s gonna hate herself, because you are about to have the sole attention of three hot single guys in a second, two of which are billionaires.”
“I have to change into…. something. Immediately.”
“My advice?” Amara says.
“You bagged the billionaire, so I’d be stupid not to.”
“Yoga sweatpants.”
“…Okay, walk me through this.”
“Don’t play stupid. I can’t stop staring at your booty in those things.”
One thing I’ve always understood about myself is that I was beautiful. Even when people would tell me I was the opposite. I always knew they must be trying to hurt me, and not that they were interested in the truth. Not that it was told to me very often. In my experience, beauty paled in comparison to being smart or adaptable or “just showing up,” and my father taught me that beauty unaccompanied by virtue was the worst kind of curse you could put on a man. So I’ve never been tempted to lean on my beauty as any sort of advantage. Thus, I have to be coached.
“Please tell me you packed the ‘eat sleep dance’ shirt.” Amara says.
“To sleep in, not to go to a rooftop terrace bar in,” I scoff.
“It’s almost 2am. We all just got off a 12 hour flight. They’re not gonna be dressed to the nines, and if you show up like overeager Annie, they’re gonna know something is up and they’re expecting that. They’re used to that.”
“You know what, you are Mr. Miyagi,” I remark.
“Wax on, wax off bitch.”
“I take back everything I said.”
“You are a chocolate ballerina with too much T & A, girl you got this.”
Baby Sam is sleeping through the night, so Amara leaves him with Rosetta. Meanwhile, me and Amara head up to the hotel’s rooftop terrace bar with a panoramic view of the city.
Dale
The morning I’m leaving for Spain, I get a call from my ex-girlfriend.
“Hi. I know it’s early, I was going to leave you a voice message.”
“It’s okay I was already up,” I yawn.
Avery was a brief but hopeful relationship I began last July. I met her at a fundraiser, about a month before Grayson met Amara as a matter of fact. We dated for almost a year before she dumped me.
“Some random wedding planner keeps calling me about this RSVP I sent in months ago. Would you please tell someone that I’m not coming and that I don’t give a shit about my place setting.”
I laugh. “Sorry about that. You will be missed,” I say, trying not to sound desperate.
“Yes, I’m sure Amara is completely lost without me right now.”
“Amara liked you,” I blink slowly.
“Amara tolerated me,” Avery mutters.
“Well, Grayson—”
“You know, it’s been almost a year, and if I never hear that man’s name until the day I die it’ll be too soon.”
Avery had a real problem with Grayson, which began the night they first met at one of my dinner parties. He was rude and ornery and on the verge of a meltdown. Not the greatest first impression. But even after that, no matter what he did, her bad opinion refused to be changed.
Grayson’s a real part of my life. We work together, live life together. Avery hadn’t even been through the thick of it. In fact, she’d showed up once the worst of it was over. Looking back, I should’ve known she couldn’t have been the one if she thought that a properly diagnosed, meltdown-free Grayson, engaged with a baby on the way, had too much undue influence on my life. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what she wanted from me. There might still be time for me to give it to her.
“Does it matter at all what I thought of you?” I dare to ask.
“You tolerated me too.”
I hate how she acts as though she put in more effort than I did, because I know for a fact that that could never, ever be the case.
“Avery… how can you say that.”
“Look Dale, I just called to tell you to pass that on. Can you do that?”
“I can,” I sigh.
“Good. I hope you’re doing well.”
I chuckle. “Well, I’m glad that you hope that.”
Avery took a deep, audible breath.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I say.
“I knew I should’ve just… sent a text,” she says.
“Well, I wouldn’t have recognized the number. Because you changed it??” I reply.
“That was unrelated to…us.”
“Ah.”
“Tell Amara I said congratulations,” she says, quickly wrapping up our conversation as though she’s reached her limit.
I can feel the lump in my throat. “How are we strangers now?”
Avery’s silent for a moment.
“Goodbye Dale.”
I stare at the ceiling, hating myself as I endure my mind’s unavoidable “what went wrong” survey yet again.
Avery was my longest relationship since I made a billion. It’s pathetic. How hard is it to find a decent woman to spoil?
Aside from her complete intolerance for the people I love, Avery was a prime candidat
e for marriage, perhaps the most qualified. She came from old money, so I didn’t worry much about ulterior motives. She’s caring, fun-loving, beautiful, outspoken. Independent, wanted a family. It never fails that when I think I’ve found the total package— which isn’t often— they all seem to be missing the crucial component of actually being in love with me.
I sometimes wonder if I’m on some strange unconscious quest for a fourth sister, because women like my sisters seem to be the only kind that stand out to me. I’m starting to think my lack of imagination is to blame.
My thoughts unconsciously go to Amara’s friend who likes pushing her body to the limit. I scoff. I’m not quite sure if I want to go to this wedding expecting a miracle, but I can’t help but get caught up in the romcom of it. I’ve never met a woman like Mya, who seems intent on finding fault with me on a constant basis.
It’s kind of cute, actually. I can’t remember the last time I had to make an effort to get someone to like me just on a fundamental level. Especially since Webster. Especially a woman.
I probably haven’t heard an honest opinion of me in a decade. It raps at a primal chamber within me that’s long been dormant. How many minutes would it take to get her down to her underwear? Ten. Five, if I use my hands. I smirk. Her underwear was definitely something boring.
The first time I met Mya was at Grayson’s engagement party. I was still with Avery at the time and we briefly exchanged pleasantries. She was amiable enough when Amara was around, but conspicuously sour when she thought no one was paying attention. She was wearing the same black dress that Amara wore at the Malibu party, which I found completely, fucking, adorable. It was a bit big on her, and I remember thinking that it was a sin to put a body like that in anything off the rack.
She seems to have a thing for Grayson, the poor girl, as much as she tries not to let it show.
Tradition dictates that we’ll have to walk down the aisle arm and arm and dance at the reception, so I should probably try to stop doing whatever I’m doing to make her hate me. And also figure out what that is.
The more I seem to push her buttons, the more hyper aware I become about her… buttons. Not to mention my own that she’s inadvertently mashing.
Let’s put aside the fact that I’m kind of sexually starved at the moment, the whole thing is turning into a “don’t think about pink elephants” situation. On steroids.
I know intellectually that a cordial, arm’s length acquaintance status with Mya is the best course of action, but the fact that she seems to agree, emphatically, quite frankly makes me want to fuck her.
I can’t decide which prospect is more tempting: watching the ice queen melt under my touch or letting the ice queen overtake me, until I’m balls deep with blue lips and can see my own breath.
Fuckin’ A. They both sound awesome. I need to clear my head in the next 24 hours, and I can’t use sex to do that, so I’ll have to use sheer willpower. I’m grateful that someone other than Grayson will be on this trip. Bel hated weddings, so he was probably going to need a drinking buddy. He could at least be counted upon to help me take my mind off the entire situation.
* * *
“Okay, tell me exactly what Amara’s friend said to you, word for word,” Bel instructs Grayson.
Fucking Bel. We haven’t been in the air one hour and already the conversation has turned to getting laid.
Bel’s dressed casually in a midnight blue suit with no tie. In fact, we’re all dressed in suits— Grayson in a gray one, Bryan and I each in a black one. Sure, we were going to be in a plane for 12 hours, but that was no excuse to dress like a schlub.
“She said, and I quote: ‘I love pushing my body to the limit.’”
“Get the fuck outta here, bro.”
I’m on the couch, pretending to watch Hangover 3 on the flatscreen with my sunglasses on. Bel’s jet is nicer than Grayson’s. Less room for passengers so obviously a flying sex machine. I try not to think about it as I stretch out on the extra large leather sofa.
“The context was ballet,” I fill in, “tell him the rest.”
“Then Dale hit me under the table, and she said, ‘But now I’m 27 and I know I can’t do this much longer.”
I laugh once Grayson outs me. Bel shakes his head in disbelief.
“Holy shit.”
“She was in a foul mood the entire time,” I inform them.
“No fouler than my moods,” Grayson argues.
“I’m pretty sure that little tidbit was for your benefit anyway,” I add.
“Mine?” Grayson says, as though a statement.
“Pretty sure,” I scrunch up my face.
“No,” Grayson shakes his head.
I turn to Bel on the couch next to me as if Grayson hadn’t spoken.
“So right before that, Grayson basically goes, ‘So what’ll you do after you’re washed up and can’t dance anymore,’ and Amara looked at him how she looks at him, and Mya was all ‘that’s a good question.’”
“She knows me well enough to know I’m a bastard,” Grayson interjects.
“And then I said, ‘Hey Mya, how are you’ and she was like, ‘shut the hell up, cracker.’”
Bel starts howling.
“Well, I’ve been around her longer than you have, and I can tell you with all certainty that Mya hates me,” Grayson states.
“Well she might hate your guts, but she loves your dick,” I sneer.
Bel’s jaw drops as the entire plane goes silent.
Okay, maybe that was a bit much.
“Grayson Davis is still a freakin’ pimp, dude,” is Bel’s response.
“Do not give props to a married man, bro that is sick,” I say.
Bel puts his fist out for Grayson to bump and I karate chop their meeting hands.
“Dale, he’s literally not even trying, bro. You know the wedding ring makes women go crazy,” Bel defends him.
“Grayson wet the bed… so many times at my house dude,” I begin in wonder.
“This again?” Bryan chimed in.
Grayson and Bel crack up. I continue, unphased.
“My mom… ripped your mom a new one because you fucked up… so many mattresses, bro.”
Grayson and Bel can’t breathe from laughing, so they can’t respond. I go on.
“And now you’ve got the entire cast of Dreamgirls, friggin’ drooling over your knob, it’s disgusting. They have no idea what that thing has been through.”
The entire jet is incapacitated. When they finally recover somewhat, Bel begins again.
“So which one of us is gonna break her off?”
I groan in disapproval.
“The coin toss only worked when it was the three of us, the woman in question was a stranger, and not a virgin.”
“She’s 27 bro, we’d be doing her a service.”
“The other friend is apparently hotter,” Grayson remembers.
“The lawyer?” Bel asks.
“Also a virgin. And wants one of us to put a baby in her,” Grayson flatly states.
“This is an embarrassment of fucking riches,” Bel mutters.
“Bel, did you somehow forget that this is our regular lives all the time?” I say.
“Not usually this many virgin African queens, though…”
“Bel relax, you got a handjob from one black girl in ‘09,” my eyes roll behind my shades.
“I date sisters, bro,” Bel insists.
“When?”
“Olivia was black.”
“Dude, she was fucking Sri Lankan.”
“Yeah, but she was ‘hood.”
“I have it on good authority that Mya has a thing for Bryan,” Grayson suddenly broadcasts.
We all look over at Bryan sitting in the corner seat, who merely glances up from his laptop and looks back down.
“Jesus,” Bel scoffs.
“He doesn’t give a shit,” Grayson confirms.
“I think I have a thing for Bryan now,” I quip.
“If I’m going t
o keep organizing both your lives I can’t be distracted by shapely ballet dancers,” Bryan flatly states.
“Bryan, just admit you’re gay, we’ll embrace you,” I rib him.
“Definitely don’t have time to be gay,” he replies without looking up.
“I nominate Dale,” Grayson suddenly says.
“Nominate Dale for what,” I ask.
“For breaking Mya off,” he says. Honestly, what is with him?
Even Bryan isn’t immune to that one. I’m the only one not amused.
“Okay first of all, I never want to hear you say that again and secondly, dancers were your thing, remember?”
“Grayson, I could barely picture you with jungle fever,” Bel protests.
“Bro, are you flying us to 1995?”
“Dale’s the only other one here who’s ready to settle down. You could make an honest woman out of her, ease your conscience.”
“That’s true,” Bel concedes.
“We’re not having this conversation,” I flatly insist.
“Why are you refusing to even think about this? What happened to no stone unturned?”
“Grayson, I cannot test drive one of Amara’s friends. She will kick my ass every time she sees me if that blows up, and believe me it will. None of us should, really, so this is a moot conversation.”
“Can I offer you some free advice, Dale?”
“No.”
“Take it from the autistic guy— you’re overthinking it.”
“Grayson, I’m just kidding around, you know that. Mya’s not that interesting to me.”
Bel’s eyebrows go up.
“I’m not talking about Mya, I’m referring to relationships in general,” Grayson clarifies.
“Dude, you didn’t even want a relationship. You wouldn’t even be with Amara right now if it wasn’t for me.”
“I agree with you. And I did the same thing then as you’re doing now.”