by Alexis Angel
The first response I hear is Kirk laughing. So far, so good. Now what does he want?
“Hey, baby. I hate not hearing your voice for so long.”
I know he can’t see my sudden smile, but I hope he can somehow sense it, or at least hear it in my voice through the phone.
“Only you can say something like that and have me believe it.” It’s the truth. I try to picture Kirk’s reaction on the other end.
Is he smiling too? What is he doing? What is he wearing, or even better, not wearing?
I think about him tying a necktie. And for some reason, that’s the hottest fucking thing in the world right now.
“I hope you believe it. I’m as serious as it gets, Emily. Anyway, I’m calling about something as equally important as hearing your voice.”
I’m still picturing Kirk getting dressed. I like to think that he’s done with his tie and that he’s putting on cufflinks.
Shit. I feel my knees buckling and my pussy clenching. I play it cool for the phone call, though.
“Now what could possibly be that important, Kirk?”
This is going to be something good, right? I sit down on my bed—one of my favorite spots to think about WineBar, especially with vibe in hand. So yeah, it seems like the perfect spot to listen to him.
“First off, I need to see you again ASAP. You know I’m as busy as anyone, but I have something perfect planned. It’s tomorrow, actually.”
“Okay, what’re you getting at? I’m a bit perplexed, babe. Is this something good?”
“Oh, it’s good, Emily. You know I’m an amazing chef, right?”
I’m still not sure where this is going.
“Uh, sure.”
“You know it. I thrive in the outdoors too. With my cooking, at least.”
Kirk’s usually a bit more direct. I’m trying not to let the conversation make me uneasy, especially since he’s clearly nervous about something. Like why is he beating around the fucking bush?
“Just spit it out, Kirk.”
“It’s the barbecue, babe! With my family. You’re invited. In fact, I insist you be there.”
Even with no plans today, I’m getting impatient waiting for WineBar to get to the real point. Invited? What’s that about?
“So is this a big event? Or…just us, maybe?”
Kirk laughs. This time—and I can’t believe I’m saying this about anything he does—WineBar sounds like he may actually be a little nervous.
Kirk does not do nervous. The guy is like always in charge of every situation. I mean, I’m getting wet just thinking about it.
“Oh, it’s a small gathering. A couple friends, family, you know. My parents. That kind of thing.”
And fuuuck. There it is. Parents.
I can’t fault Kirk for being nervous now. I mean, shit. He’s breaking ground I didn’t even know we were ready for.
I’m more than happy to go along with it, though.
I mean, I should be. I think. Right?
Yeah. I should be excited about this.
“Kirk, I would love to. Just tell me when.”
“I’ll text you about all that—the details and such.”
There’s a few seconds of silence after that last half-formed sentence.
“Should I…Kirk, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here, Em.”
Kirk’s not the type to be at a loss for words, like ever. But I guess we all have our moments.
“So casual dress or what?” I know what a barbecue is, but I’m trying to get Kirk to say something, anything else about it. I fully expect him to tell me to dress however I please.
“That depends how you define casual. Nothing too revealing, I guess. Conservative.”
Wait, what? There has to be something wrong with my phone. What I’m hearing makes no sense.
He’s never cared how I dress.
And…conservative? Um, has he met me? What the fuck is going on?
“Okay, Kirk. Text me when you’re ready.”
I hang up and think about what he said.
Parents. I shiver a little bit, and I don’t think it’s because I’m still super horny just from listening to his voice—which I totally am, by the way.
But yeah. Parents. By tomorrow, I hope we’re both ready.
Chapter 39
Kirk
“Better than any fucking elliptical machine, am I right?”
Already outside of the ring, I’m still reeling from that jab straight to my jaw. Since when is Tad so fucking good at feinting?
Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to dedicate to becoming as good as I’d like at the sweet science of punching another dude’s face at a sweaty-ass gym. Right now, I’m sweaty and rubbing my jaw.
Tad is correct—this shit beats an elliptical machine any fucking day of the week.
“Yeah, great cardio, and all for the cost of a few massive blows to my skull and a bit of potential brain damage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I grin.
Tad is wearing a derisive smirk, and I have to laugh. Like me, he appreciates a bit of good-natured sparring outside the ring as well as inside.
“I’d say that brain damage is nothing new for you, friend. Nobody should be that easy to feint.”
“You may just have yourself a point there, Tad. And if I don’t have the intellect for sparring, I probably need to rethink a lot of things.”
Tad laughs loud and hard enough to drown out the sound of KFOG blasting through the gym PA. Even the lifters stop their grunts and dumbbell dropping for a moment. I chuckle despite my best efforts.
“Contagious laughter. I don’t like catching it,” I say.
I’m not making much sense, and I’m not sure whether it’s from the punches to my headgear or from actual nerves about this afternoon. Since when the fuck am I nervous about anything?
Tad’s looking at me strange, and not just because of my off comment. He can tell there’s something up.
Fuck.
“Do you want to grab a sports drink from the fridge? On me.”
For the first time in what may be years, I look over at the ridiculous locked commercial refrigerator. There are dozens of multicolored bottles visible through the glass door.
Those bottles are vintage at this point. Tad would probably be the first person to buy a drink from there since the nineties.
“You know I don’t go for that sugar-water shit.”
I know Tad’s trying to help, but he seems to think there’s something wrong. He’s way off about that. This barbecue is a big fucking deal, but in the best way possible.
I have to explain myself so Tad can stop the inquisition. We only have time for one or two more rounds, and I don’t want to waste it.
“Regular water then, or a seat on the bench, at the very least. Come on, man. You look like you need a break. Nothing’s wrong with that.”
I sit down on the bench just behind us and take a swig from my reusable water bottle that must’ve slipped Tad’s notice.
“Happy now?”
Tad sits down next to me and gives me a look. Jesus Christ, this really is going to be a production, isn’t it?
“Are you? I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Kirk. Is it good? Do you need to talk about it?”
Why do people keep asking me if things are good? It’s meaningless to me, but Tad means well. I try to keep my cool.
“Yes, it’s good. It’s very, very good, in fact. I’m having a barbecue later.”
“Oh, okay, that is…good. I guess.” He gives me a look like I’ve lost my fucking mind. I think I may have. “But what else?”
This motherfucker’s relentless. But whatever, I have nothing to hide.
“My parents are coming.”
Tad shrugs and nods slightly. This is the end of it. I hope.
“Okay. Who else?”
I don’t know how much Tad’s figured out by now, but I have to give the dude props—I respect his tenacity to pry out the truth.
“
Emily. She’ll meet my parents, my family. This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to something like this.”
And…nothing. Tad’s got his fucking poker face on.
All I want to do is get back to boxing, not have this conversation right now. But if he wants to talk about the most important thing in my life at the moment, it looks like that’s what we’re fucking talking about.
“How long have you known this girl?”
This question would normally annoy the fuck out of me because Tad already knows the answer—and also because it’s irrelevant.
Right now, the question annoys me because the gall of Tad or anyone else referring to Emily as this girl is enough to drive me fucking insane. Seriously?
Luckily, even in this testosterone-laden gym full of punching and grunting, I’m able to calm the fuck down when I think about Tad’s point of view. His heart is in the right place.
“A couple weeks. Why should that matter?”
“You sure you’re not getting this backward? For me, at least, it’s good to hold off on the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing until I get to know someone.”
Tad’s still right next to me on the bench, making eye contact and listening carefully. I need to take this opportunity to make things clear.
“I already know Emily. I know her better than you can realize, and I know her in ways I can’t even describe. I also know her in some ways I can describe easily. For example, she makes a living as a romance author.”
“Interesting. Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because it means that she takes this shit seriously. She gets it—this whole ‘meeting the parents’ business. This is important for her, and it’s important for me.”
Tad gives me that nod again. It’s slightly more believable this time, but not by much.
“I think I’ll have one of those drinks myself,” Tad deadpans. I hope like hell he’s joking. He starts to stand up.
“No! Tad, don’t do it! Think of your family!”
I don’t even see the trace of a smile as Tad retakes his seat. He can be ice-cold when it comes to jokes, but Tad’s trying to be warm right now. He’s just looking out for me, misguided as he may be, and before we step back into the ring, I’m determined to convince him of that.
“Sounds like it’ll be a great barbecue.” Tad’s now eyeing the ring again. His focus is switching back to the task at hand, and we’ve got a couple more rounds before the workout is done.
“Emily can charm the shit out of anyone. I can’t wait for her to meet my family,” I tell him.
I don’t see Tad’s face as he reacts to this, since he’s already putting his gloves back on and striding toward the ring. I get up and follow him, mentally preparing myself for a few more punches.
“It’s about more than just your parents, Kirk. You may not like what they have to say, and you’re a grown-ass man.”
There’s no way that my parents won’t be floored by Emily. They’ll fucking love her.
On the other hand, Tad is right about one thing—this is about more than just my family. I want Emily to be part of my life, and that includes both family and friends.
But I’ll also admit that I’ve been thinking a few more people at the party might make things easier, reduce the chances for awkwardness.
“Hey, Tad?”
Tad doesn’t stop, slow down, or even look at me.
“Fuck yeah.”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?”
“Fuck yeah, Kirk. I’ll go to your fucking barbecue, man.”
This fucker must have ESP. It’s the only explanation.
“Bring as many people as you can, but only people I know. No random motherfuckers.” I do my best to deliver these instructions plainly as Tad climbs back into the ring, but he’s already moved on.
He’s ready to start punching again. And so am I.
Chapter 40
Emily
I don’t know what I’d do without my newsletter.
That’s how I feel most of the time, anyway. Today, I don’t know what to do at all.
Conservative? What the fuck?
The best I can hope for is some advice from my knowledgeable, wise, and well-sexed readers.
The cursor blinking on the blank email screen mocks me. This is like the worst writer’s block ever. I’m asking for something more than just inspiration.
It feels like I need a fucking miracle. Or at least a half-decent idea.
Shit, it’s getting late. I stop worrying and start typing. I start with what’s becoming my standard chatter about WineBar.
It seems like it’s all good news, or should be, and I try to keep a chipper, upbeat tone. But then I get to what I really need to know:
OK, so conservative dress.
Like, what does that even mean?
And what does it mean when it comes from WineBar?
I know I can rock this shit, but like, uhm, help. WTF am I supposed to do to make it hot? I mean, that kinda pulls out all the good choices and leaves me with what?
Tell me what u think, bc I have no fucking clue. If I ask WineBar, then he’ll be like “oh, you know.” How can he be sooper talkative one moment and then when I have a question he’s “Listen” and then gives me one fucking word or something?
LOL, so totally overthinking this. Need ur help, babes!!!
Just as I hit send, I hear my front door open, which is enough to make me leap out of my chair and nearly have a heart attack. It takes about half a second to realize that it’s only my best friend and fellow romance author extraordinaire, Lana.
There’s no reason I should be startled, but I still let out a little half scream before walking over to greet her.
“Jesus, Em. I’m supposed to be the tense one. What the fuck?”
Lana’s face is dead serious. She may be intense sometimes, but thanks to this barbecue and Kirk’s vague-as-fuck dress code request, I’m so far from chill that I think I might know what it’s like to be Lana now.
Maybe I can channel some of this nervous energy into figuring out a fucking outfit already. Since Lana’s here, I can recruit her to the cause as well.
“Come on, let’s go,” I demand, trying to be casual but already marching in the direction of my bedroom and my closet.
There has to be something perfect for today hiding there. I really hope Lana can help me figure out this whole conservative thing. This is one first impression I don’t want to mess up.
“Let’s go where?”
“To pick out something for this fucking barbecue already. You know—WineBar, parents, and all that shit.” I’m walking at a steady clip. I hear Lana following casually behind me.
“Okay, but Em…”
I get to my bedroom well before Lana, and by the time she strolls in, I already have a couple summery dresses laid out on the bed, and I’m busy looking through various tops.
“A dress would be easiest. Would it be better if I planned out an outfit?” I ask her.
I feel like I’m losing track of whatever ideas I may have had. I don’t want to put this all on Lana, but I need her relative clear-headedness right now.
“Emily?”
Oh, thank fuck. I’m starved for an outside opinion, and Lana’s ready to tell me something, at least.
“What is it, Lana? The flared floral dress? I was thinking that too. That’s pretty conservative, right?”
“How much sleep did you get last night?”
I give her a crazy look because that’s not the usual type of question Lana would ask.
“I’m very well rested. But let’s focus here. All I need is something conservative, but still slutty at the same time. Those are the only requirements.”
I’m focused on efficiently looking through dresses, hoping one will jump out as the perfect one.
“Um, Emily, I think you’ve stumbled on a fashion oxymoron. Conservative and slutty can’t exist in the same outfit.”
I’m still quickly rifling through dresses
as I try to explain.
“Here’s the thing, Lana. I need to make a strong impression, but I can’t do that unless I look amazing. Conservative? What the fuck? That’s not inspiring to me. Would it be for anyone? No,” I answer before she can respond.
Because hello, who gets excited about conservative clothes? It’s sure as fuck not me.
And then there it is—my drop-waist green sundress. It’s the right weather for it, and the flowing design is sexy, but in a subtle way.
“Just a question, Em. Have you eaten recently? Like at all?”
I pull the sundress from the closet and hold it out for Lana to see.
“This is perfect, am I right? And I have those kitten heels in a matching color. Fuckably conservative.”
“Did you have breakfast?”
Lana doesn’t want to give her input for whatever reason. Well, so much for that. Thanks, bestie, looks like I’ll have to rely on my instincts about the sundress.
“Just an apple.”
“Oh. That’s not much of a breakfast, but better than nothing.”
“It was actually last night’s dessert.”
I lay the dress carefully on my bed as Lana looks on.
“Yeah, eating’s probably a good idea. Do you want to order something? Delivery? I could run out and pick something up for you.”
Now that the clothing dilemma is solved, my edgy energy slows down. I have just enough time to get ready.
“I still need to shower and make sure I look amazing. No time for anything else. Thanks, though, babe. You’re a doll.”
I give her a wink and rush to the bathroom. I do my best to relax while taking a warm shower, taking a few deep breaths.
This’ll be great, or at least fine. There’s no way a stupid barbecue can screw up what I have with Kirk.
This is all part of building a deeper relationship. I try to clear my mind. As I shave my legs, I think about nothing except the task at hand.
My quasi-meditation works until I’m staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, perfecting my makeup.
Why does Kirk seem so nervous about this?
That annoying thought rears its dumb head a couple times before I can shove it down for good.
When I finish getting ready, I head to the living room to find Lana again. She’s lounging and looking a bit bored on the couch. By now, I’m showered, shaved, dressed, and all-around perfectly prepared.