Kinky Resolutions and Other New Year's Disasters: A Standalone Romantic Comedy

by Frankie Love

  Telling Gracie to walk away was the hardest thing I may have ever done. I wanted her, all of her.

  But hearing her parents tell me that she’d missed graduation... I knew the one and only thing that had changed in her life was me walking into it.

  No way was I gonna carry that... and I didn’t want Gracie to carry it either. She deserves the chance to chase her dreams, without me getting in the way of them.

  Now, I’m not gonna lie and say I wasn’t flattered as fuck to know my cock had been such a distraction. Hell, hearing that made me feel like a goddamn king, but the high didn’t last long.

  Gracie crying against my chest, feeling like she had failed, made me want to rewind, go back to before New Year’s Day, before the Kinky List... to the time when Gracie had one focus –– her future.

  Still, before I let her go, I kissed her. Because how the hell could I not? Gracie’s lips are perfection. But in that kiss, I noticed they were laced with the tears of her own failure. And I never wanted her kisses to be so salty again.

  “What are you doing here?” I shout.

  “I came to see you. The team has been doing so incredibly... I had to come watch. Everyone’s talking about you guys.”

  I wipe my brow, looking at her, my catcher glove still in my hand. The late afternoon sun is shining down on Gracie. She looks like the sunshine and cracker jacks and cotton candy. She’s in a little Yankees t-shirt with a V-neck, wearing a baseball cap, braids in her hair, tiny little cut-offs, her summer tanned legs taunting me as she stands on her tiptoes, talking to me.

  “You’re killing me here, Gracie.”

  “What do you mean?” She smiles, leaning over the railing.

  I shake my head, fucking horny as hell just seeing her.

  “What’s going on with you two?” Bridget asks. It’s not until she speaks I even realize that Gracie isn’t alone. Talk about tunnel fucking vision. Seems I only have eyes for Gracie.

  “Nothing,” Gracie says, swatting Bridget away.

  “So, are you going to take us out for beers, Mr. Big Shot?” Bridget asks.

  “It’s up to your friend,” I tell her.

  Gracie shakes her head, grinning. “I’m not the one in charge, you are, remember?”

  Over burgers and beers, I sit with Gracie and Bridget and Gabe. Not the most awkward foursome – considering what happened a few months ago.

  “Your team is going all the way,” Bridget say, dipping a fry in ketchup. “I feel it.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Gabe asks. “You have a sixth sense or some shit?”

  “Maybe.” Bridget shrugs, her little tank top falling off her shoulder as she reaches for her pint. “I just seem to have a feeling about things.”

  “Right,” Gracie laughs. “Like the “feeling” you had about that double date sophomore year?”

  “Why do you always bring up old shit, Gracie?” Bridget laughs, fake scowling at her friend.

  “I want the story,” I say, taking the bait, not wanting the night to end. Truth is, sitting here with Gracie is like fresh air. All summer I’ve been going nonstop, the season is intense, and so much is at stake... but seeing Gracie, damn, it’s like I can breathe for the first time.

  Bridget jumps in, “Not much of a story. I just thought the twins we met seemed like nice guys.”

  Gracie laughs, deadpanned, “Ha-ha. Turns out they were con artists. They stole like three hundred bucks from us – and left us with the bill at dinner. Bridget, you have roped me into so many shady situations it’s insane that–”

  “That you’ve still only ever slept with one guy?” She cocks an eyebrow as if she’s won this round.

  “Hey,” Gracie says her voice reprimanding. “We aren’t going there.”

  Gabe’s eyebrows raise, and he looks at me.

  “Is that true, Gracie? You’ve only ever slept with one guy?” Gabe asks.

  Once again Bridget is all over this, and I feel my pulse quicken, hoping like hell I didn’t take Gracie’s virginity in a dirty alley.

  “Oh yeah,” Bridget interjects. “We were roommates. Freshman year. She was dating this guy, Brock, was it?”

  Instantly my shoulders relax. Okay, I wasn’t her first. Which is good considering I certainly didn’t fuck her like I was.

  Though, suddenly I really wished I was her one and only.

  But wait, she’s only been with one other guy?

  I can’t quite believe it. She’s so beautiful I don’t understand how she could be keeping the guys away. Looking across the table at Gracie, it’s clear she’s not interested in rehashing the story because she just keeps on eating her food as if this topic of conversation is lame. Bridget doesn’t seem to get the memo – she just plows forward.

  “Anyways,” Bridget says. “He was the most boring human on the planet. And they would have the most boring sex you’ve ever seen. Literally, I was in the same dorm room, yet I would fall asleep it was so uneventful.”

  Gabe frowns. “It’s kinda creepy that you were watching them, don’t you think?”

  Bridget scoffs. “I’m not some voyeur, but the dorm was small. What was I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabe laughs. “Leave?”

  “That’s the sixth sense thing, though, I felt like I needed to stay to offer protection to Gracie if she needed it.”

  “Why?” I ask, instantly revved up. “Was this guy like threatening you?”

  Gracie shakes her head. “No, she means protecting me because she thought Brock was, like, in the CIA.”

  “Why else would he wear a black suit everywhere he went?” Bridget asks as if that proves everything.

  “Why would she need protection from a guy in the CIA?” I ask.

  Gracie laughs. “She was a conspiracy theorist back then. Big brother and all.”

  “And yet you’re still best friends?” I ask, trying to figure out Gracie and Bridget’s connection.

  “I’m still into conspiracies,” Bridget says. “Aliens. Ufos. I’m all over that shit.”

  “So only one guy, really?” I ask Gracie.

  Her cheeks flush but she looks directly at me. “I’m submitting my research paper in two weeks.”

  “Way to change the subject,” Bridget laughs.

  I know that isn’t what Gracie is doing at all. She is giving me a date.

  I won’t miss it.

  “You ever been to Area 51?” Gabe asks Bridget.

  “Never,” she groans. “But I so want to.”

  “Me too.” Gabe pulls out his phone. “I know it’s all probably fake, but I swear to god some of this shit online looks pretty fucking real.”

  I tune out their alien-convo, wondering when my buddy became such a nerd, and turn my eyes on Gracie. She finishes her beer and tells me she’s staying at Bridget’s for a quick girls’ night, then heading back to the beach tomorrow.

  “So soon?” I can’t help but ask.

  “I have a lot to do before I turn it in.”

  “So, you figured out your angle on the research paper? Found a way to give it a personal touch?” I ask, remembering the topic, What Happens When Women Take Charge of Their Sexuality.

  She licks her lips, before answering softly, “Mmhmm. I know exactly what happens to women.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “They lose control.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Gracie?”

  She blushes. “It’s a great thing.”

  14

  Batting .300

  September 2017

  For eight weeks, I lived and breathed my research paper. All in all, it was one hundred and forty single-spaced pages reflecting not only the conclusions from the semi-related research I found in various studies around the world – but also my own experience.

  “This is substantial, Gracie. Much more than I ever expected – and I don’t mean that to slight you. There is just so much here, it’s a gold-mine, really,” my advisor tells me. “When you dropped the ball this past sprin
g, I was worried. But you seem to have come through under pressure.”

  Under pressure. If only she knew what sort of pressure I was under... Cooper and I are going to finish the list. In fact, I’m flying to Las Vegas tonight, after this meeting, to see him.

  After sweeping the Red Sox, the Yankees are in first place. He’s been in Arizona for four away games--which I watched semi-obsessively. At this point all of NYC has Yankee-Fever.

  Cooper will be playing in LA next week, but he penciled me in. We’re both flying in to the city of sin for a one-night rendezvous.

  My panties have been soaked all day in anticipation.

  “So, I’m all done?” I ask, relieved and proud and just so damn happy that I went all in and did this for myself. “Just wait to receive my degree in the mail and begin applying to doctoral programs?”

  “Yes, and I have no doubt you’ll be accepted to whichever one you want. But I also had another suggestion, Gracie, about ways you could continue your research. I’m hoping you might be interested.”

  I lean in, curious.

  Seven hours later I land in Vegas, my carry-on suitcase rolling behind me, and my hopes high.

  I’m going to see Cooper.

  And we are going to... well, I don’t exactly know what. He texted and told me to bring pastries with me, so I’m assuming some fetish is involved... just not exactly sure what resolution a food fetish falls into?

  I take a cab to the hotel, the Ace Royale, and holy hell it’s flipping hot outside.

  Like beyond hot. It’s more correctly described as sweltering. And it’s seven at night. The heat wouldn’t be such an issue if I hadn’t traveled across the country with a to-go bag from my favorite bakery.

  Pain Au Chocolat–pastries, just as Cooper requested. They are tucked in my giant tote purse, I look at them, confirming they aren’t smashed beyond reason.

  I’ve never been to Vegas before, nightclubs and gambling have never been my thing, I thought it would be sort of a circus– and I was right. The Strip looks just like it does in the movies.

  Stepping out of the taxi, I tip the driver and smile, taking my bag and texting Cooper as I walk.

  Me: I’m here. What room number are we?

  Cooper: I’m room 810 and you are 811. Come to mine for your key.

  I push my lips forward. Separate rooms?

  Not exactly what I expected, but okay.

  Me: Be up in a sec.

  In the elevator, I stare at my reflection in the glass, run my fingers under my eyes, it’s been a long day. And I know the night is going to be crazy... montages from the movie The Hangover cross my mind.

  When he opens the door, I’m reminded that he’s a professional athlete. Mostly because he has a plush white towel wrapped around his waist, his hand holding it in place. My eyes are drawn to his six-pack, his defined arms, his pecs that are practically begging me to press myself against them.

  So, I do.

  Wrapping Cooper in a hug, I inhale his freshly showered skin, he still smells like himself. All man.

  “Gracie, it’s so good to see you.” He shuts the door behind me and I step inside his suite.

  “It feels like ages since that baseball game a month ago.” I set down my purse and suitcase and walk toward his window, with the shades pulled open, it offers an expansive view of the strip.

  “You said you’ve never been here?” he asks, coming up behind me. He doesn’t touch me, but I know he is inches from my ear.

  “Never. And oh my gosh, Cooper,” I say turning to face him – so very close to him – “It’s freaking hot here.”

  “I know.” He shakes his head, rummaging through an open suitcase. “It’s been killer in Arizona. I thought Gabe was going to have a heatstroke last night.”

  “That’s scary,” I say, watching him grab underwear, a white tee shirt. “Hey, did you know Bridget and Gabe have been talking?”

  Cooper smirks. “Gabe mentioned it, but I didn’t know if they were just messing around. Especially after she hooked up with another teammate last year and it fizzled out so fast.”

  “Right, Bridget has never had a long-term relationship. Not that I have either, I mean, not really.”

  “Did you ever tell Bridget about us, about the list?”

  I shake my head. Sometimes when you wait too long to say something, the moment has passed. That’s what happened with my best friend.

  At this, Cooper frowns. “Right, because we’re just helping you achieve your goals?”

  I laugh, because what the heck am I supposed to say? “Right.”

  “Where did you tell her you were going tonight?”

  “My parents’ place.”

  Cooper drops it, just nods, and brings up my paper. “So, you’re all done, can I see it in writing?”

  Pulling open my purse, I grab a signed note from my advisor, very official.

  “Proof.” I hand him the paper with the final assignment printout – nothing missing.

  “Congratulations, Gracie. I’m so proud of you.”

  I feel heat rise to my cheeks at Cooper’s affirmation. “Thanks, I mean, I don’t know if I’d have finished so soon without your encouragement.”

  “Is that what it’s called? I thought it was manipulation.”

  “What can I say,” I laugh, shrugging. “I’ll do anything for a reward.”

  “Speaking of, I have a gift for you.” Cooper walks back to his suitcase and pulls out a small black velvet box. “For you.”

  I swallow, surprised at the gesture.

  “You didn’t have to get me a gift.”

  “I know.” Cooper runs his hand over his jaw. “Just open it.”

  I pull back the lid, and a slim, gold-cuffed bracelet is inside. Lifting it out I move to put it on, but Cooper stops me.

  “Read the inside.”

  I turn it over, and inside he has inscribed, “.300”

  “Cooper,” I say, looking into his eyes, my throat tight and my heart expanding.

  “It’s okay to have bad games, you have to look at the season as a whole, that tells you more. And you Gracie, you had a good fucking season.”

  “Thank you, Cooper,” I pull him into a hug, realizing we are straying far from the Kinky List and entering unchartered territory. “This is so thoughtful.”

  “So, the professor, she liked your paper?”

  “She loved it, actually.”

  “Can I read it?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I bite my bottom lip. “Can we talk about it over dinner?”

  “Sure, speaking of, you need to go get ready. We have reservations at 8:30.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Cooper grins. “That’s a surprise.”

  “Dressy though?”

  “Gracie, this is Vegas. Go big or go home. Tonight, wear the skimpiest thing you own.”

  An hour later I’m dressed in an outfit I, thank-you-god, bought on impulse. It’s tiny, turquoise and sparkly. I look like a mermaid, and I even braid my long hair in a reverse fishtail, letting tendrils loosely frame my face.

  With bright red lips, lots of eyeliner, and black heels, I wait in the hall for Cooper, new bracelet on my wrist, and bakery bag in hand.

  When he steps out his hotel door, my tummy flutters. He’s in a dark gray suit – the one he wore on Valentine’s Day... the suit he wore when he fucked me against a wall. The suit he wore when he pulled my breasts in his mouth, sucking my nipples, touching my pussy. The suit holds memories.

  “You look insane,” he tells me.

  I lower my chin, feeling the heat on my face. “You clean up pretty well yourself,” I say, looking back at him. “You even shaved for me? I’m impressed.”

  Cooper’s hair is wavy and getting longer every time I see him, but he isn’t a typical burly catcher, he’s a bit more polished – it’s those friendly mid-west manners of his – and tonight he is shiny as all get out.

  He seems as ready for this night as I am.

  “So... these are
for you, per your request.” I hand him the white to-go bag.

  Cooper takes it, then looks inside confused. “What’s this for?”

  “You told me to bring pastries.”

  A broad smile crosses Cooper’s face, and he starts shaking his head. “No, Gracie, not pastries.”

  My face falls. “What do you mean?”

  “I asked you to bring pasties.”

  I frown. “What?” I pull out my phone, scrolling through his texts. “No, I don’t get these sorts of things wrong, Coop. You said pastries.”

  Sure, enough I’m right.

  “Damn autocorrect, ruining strip teases, one text at a time.”

  “Strip teases?” My eyes get wide. “No, no, no, the list said to go to a strip club... not strip... myself!”

  Cooper pulls out a croissant, takes a bite, watching me squirm. “I’m in charge, remember?”

  “I remember,” I say with a groan.

  Cooper takes my hand, and it feels electric. We go to the bank of elevators and ride down, Cooper explains the night ahead as we walk into the opulent lobby.

  “Tonight, we’re going to dinner, then we’re headed to a club, Heart Royale, and we’re going to see COCKPIT.”

  “COCKPIT, seriously?” My eyes are wide as saucers. “That’s an all-male strip show, you know that, right, Cooper?”

  Cooper shrugs, grinning. “This list isn’t about me Gracie. Remember?”

  “Sometimes I wonder why you’re doing all this for me, Cooper?”

  “I have other questions,” he says, evading mine. “Like how did you know what COCKPIT was?”

  I snort as we walk deeper into the casino to a gorgeous mahogany enveloped steakhouse. I notice women pointing to Cooper as we move, but he doesn’t even pause at the women gawking over him.

  “I know what COCKPIT is because the dancer in that show, McQueen is on half the memes on Facebook. He’s like a Magic Mike, Brock O’Hurn smash up.”

  “You’re gonna make me insecure,” Cooper says, as a hostess leads us to table in the back of the restaurant.

  We’re ensconced in a private room, heavy curtains offering us privacy. Once seated across from one another, cocktails ordered, and food on the way, I raise an eye and circle back.