by Dani Stowe
“What do you have in the bag?” she asks and the valet—a young, blond, skinny guy, probably a college student, appears just as leery as Charlotte.
I can understand why she’s so guarded. Charlotte never liked secrets unless she was the one in control of them, including the gossip, back in high school. To this day, I’m still curious what kind of gossip, if any, she ever spoke about me. But I can’t tell her what’s in the bag or it’ll ruin the proposal.
“It’s a surprise.” I signal with my fingers again and a breeze blows through the alley lifting her hair over her ears and I remember the time I chased her around her backyard. We had to be in fifth grade or maybe sixth.
She ran in circles, but never into the house to get away. We just ran for the sake of running—with me always chasing her. Whenever she’d slow down her hair would flick me in the face, which was a little irritating when her fine blonde hair would catch between my glasses and my eye, but deep down I loved it. I loved to chase her and I think she liked being chased until we got too old to behave so silly.
I walk over to her. She’s gorgeous as fuck and she catches me staring at the top of her breasts bundled in the dress I bought. Her tits look like loafs of warm bread that want to be buttered by my tongue.
My tongue. I consider that maybe I should slip the pill under it and take Charlotte back to her hotel. Although if I drug myself now, I doubt we’ll make it that far before she’s coming onto me and I’ll have to pull over to appease her needs.
And mine. Finally.
Of course, she wouldn’t be coming onto me, per say. She’d be coming on to Mr. Nine and I’m a little jealous of the guy. I’m as jealous of him as I am of every high school quarterback, point guard, and first baseman she snuck into her bedroom on occasion.
I could just fuck her the way those assholes did. I don’t know why I haven’t. I’m sure I could get up inside her at this point without the pill. The thought is making my dick hard and I grab her. I wrap my fingers tight around the back of her neck the way any of those dumb athletes would do, treating her like she was their property.
“Charlotte, sweetheart. C’mon, you can trust me. I’m a friend of Elliot’s remember?” Gripping her neck, I nudge her towards me and she finally takes her leg out of the car.
For the first time, I feel like I finally know her—the girl next door. I knew she liked to be chased. She teased everybody into chasing her. I just had no idea she wanted to be caught and handled.
Gripping the duffle bag in one hand, I clasp her hand in the other and lead her around the Jag to enter a heavy metal door.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks, her voice echoing along with the click-clack of her high heels as we go up a flight of stairs.
Charlotte is slow to move so I tug harder, keeping her right behind me as I lead us out of the stairwell and into a kitchen.
It’s noisy and busy. A few restaurant cooks take notice, but no one says anything—as I instructed earlier. Charlotte seems cheerier to be among the clamor of people as I lead her to an open lanai that hosts a single table dressed just for two and well-lit by candlelight.
I let go of her hand to pull out her seat and I’m about to ask her politely to sit down, but polite doesn’t seem to work so well with Charlotte.
“Sit,” I command.
She does as I say and I drop the bag as I sit across from her opening my jacket and fixing my tie. There’s a rose between us centered in a small vase on the table and Charlotte’s eyes twinkle.
“What...what is all this?” she stutters and looks around. We are only on the second floor, but the view is spectacular. The city is streaming with people and we are separated from the interior of the restaurant.
“I’m going to propose.”
Charlotte sinks into her seat. “What are you talking about? Propose what?”
“I told you I have a proposal for you.”
“Okay, but this feels like a romantic proposal.”
“It’s hardly romantic,” I smirk as two men come out with our first course and a bottle of wine.
Charlotte raises a brow. “You don’t think this is romantic?”
“Most definitely not,” I say and point to her plate of salad with my fork. “Eat your food.”
“Well, I think it’s romantic,” she huffs.
“Is it now?”
Once the wine bottle comes open, I take it from the waiter and pour Charlotte a full glass. Taking my own glass, I hand it empty back to the waiter.
“Aren’t you going to have a drink with me?” she asks.
“No, I take a certain medication that won’t allow me to drink.”
“Oh!” She straightens up. “May I ask what for?”
I groan. “I take it to control the side effects of a certain condition I have.”
Charlotte sticks her fork in her mouth and leans in as she speaks next. She’s ashamed to be so curious, but inquires anyway. “I get the feeling you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Not really, no.” I shake my head. “At least not until maybe after you’ve heard my proposal.”
She drops her fork. “Okay, what’s this big proposal you keep leading into? You know, I read a lot of books and if you’re going to propose I be your fake fiancé or something, I’m not doing it. I feel like this has been some kind of test to see if I’d make a good pseudo girlfriend or wife. Seriously, if you need me to marry you because you’re about to inherit some money or whatever, I’m not doing that either.”
“I want you to shave me.”
Charlotte scoots back in her chair and slaps the table, making the dishes tinker and rumble. “Damn it. I knew it! I knew you were into some kinky shit.”
I laugh. “No, it’s not like that. I want you to give me a makeover.”
“What?” she grimaces.
I lean forward to move Charlotte’s plate out of the way and then bend over to pick up the duffel bag, placing it in front of her and pull on the zipper.
“See, there’s this girl I like,” I mention as I sit back down to watch Charlotte fumble through the bag. “I’ve liked her for some time, but I’m not sure she likes me and I thought maybe you could give me some pointers. You seem like the girl-next-door type and I could use a friend. I don’t have any friends that are girls—or women.”
Charlotte reaches into the bag and pulls out a set of clippers with one hand and a razor with the other. “What’s the matter?” she asks, examining the tools. “You have sex with ‘em too soon before you get to know ‘em?”
I gulp. “Pretty much. Yes. But not this girl.”
“Is that why you haven’t had sex with me?” She raises a brow. “Twice now, you’ve gotten me off, but you haven’t helped yourself to—”
“I guess you could say since she’s been back in my life, I’ve been saving myself.”
“Wow. She must be some girl to make you want to hold out like that,” she shrugs.
Charlotte seems saddened by the idea of some other special girl. It’s terrible I’m so happy she’s jealous.
She waves the tools at me and cocks her head with a slouch. “I can understand how you might want a makeover to catch the attention of this girl, but let’s be honest, Mr. Nine—you still do want to fuck her. Right?”
Hearing the F-word coming out of Charlotte’s mouth certainly does make me want to fuck.
Her.
“That would be ideal, Charlotte, especially if I could get her to stick around for the long term.”
“Oh!” she exclaims—perky—though her bottom lip is pouting. “Long term? She sounds like she’s very special.”
“Yes, but I’m having some confidence issues. I’m a little afraid she might think I’m somewhat of a geek.”
Charlotte shakes her head. “Oh no, Mr. Nine. You don’t have to worry about that. You’re quite the opposite of a geek, which I’m sure you have to be in some ways as a managing partner at NIM. I have no doubt you’re a smarty pants, but even if you are geeky underneath all that fine cologne and fancy clothin
g, most girls nowadays love geeks, so you have nothing to worry about. Personally, I love geeks.”
“Do you now?”
“Mhm,” she nods then sighs. “Listen, Mr. Nine, I don’t think you need my help. I’d be happy to help you but truthfully, I think you’re wasting your time with me.”
“Pull out the envelope,” I interject. “It’s in the bag.”
Charlotte digs through some clothes and pulls out the envelope. She opens it and I’m not surprised to see her eyes widen freakishly as she skims through the header.
It makes me smile. “It’s the deed to your property—the one you say you burned down when you were younger. I had a friend check it out—”
“Mr. Crowe?” she assumes.
“Right, Mr. Crowe,” I nod and see that she’s blushing as she hugs the bag. “He says there’s still no house there, but I propose if you help me, I will pay you back by at least giving you the deed.”
Charlotte’s eyes get misty. “That doesn’t seem like a fair trade—a makeover in exchange for a piece of property?”
“If you understood how special this woman is to me, you would know I’m the one getting the better deal out of this. So, what do you say?”
Chapter 11
Charlotte
“I say we start tonight.”
“Should we now?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Nine,” I say, zipping up the bag. “And you should know, I’m very good at makeovers. Honestly, it’s probably the one thing I excel at.”
To think, for the past few hours I was afraid Mr. Nine worked for the mafia or something. He’s so secretive and mysterious. Demanding and commanding. I thought he was a bit of a devil, really. Actually, I might have to work on that with him. If this girl is as special as he says she is, I’m going to need to bring the angel out of him. Bring those wings of his to the surface and sprout that halo because he really is an angel.
I can’t wait to hand the deed over to my parents. Maybe they can move out of the apartment and build a small one or two-bedroom house on the property. They loved that little neighborhood and I also miss it.
“Mr. Nine, how’s Elliot? I haven’t seen him yet. I thought I would’ve by now but—”
My elbows shift beneath me. The duffel bag is being pulled away and I look up to see the waiter pulling at the bag to place a hot plate of pasta in front me.
“Don’t worry about Mr. Crowe. Eat your food, Charlotte.”
I take a bite, but I feel the need to begin the makeover process immediately, so with a full mouth, I scold him. “Mr. Nine, before I shave you, I should tell you—you shouldn’t keep telling a woman what to do the way you do.”
“I shouldn’t?”
“No, you’re coming off a bit like a handler.”
“Am I now?”
I take another bite. “Oh yeah, chicks don’t want to be handled. They want...you know?”
“No, I don’t know.”
“To be taken care of and romanced.”
“How about this whole setup I’ve put together?” he smiles crookedly. “Are you feeling romanced?”
I peep about. It is romantic. I’ve already told him that and I’m jealous of the girl that will likely be led here on a real date someday soon. “Yes.”
“If I took you home after this, would you fuck me afterward?”
I choke. It’s quite embarrassing and I pick up the napkin to hold it over my mouth to cough. When I’ve hacked out the pasta at the back of my throat, I’m still straining to speak. “Now see, this isn’t about me. You can’t compare me to this other girl. In fact, you’re going to have to tell me a little bit more about her so I can make you over properly.”
He snarls. “Answer the question, Charlotte. Would you fuck me after this?”
“Yes...no...I don’t know! But I’m not the one that matters. You need to tell me about her.”
I hear the familiar tic-tac noise. Mr. Nine has his hand in his pocket again as he stands up. “How about I tell you about her on the way back to your hotel where you can shave my face.”
“But I’m not finished eating! All night you’ve been very demanding—telling me to eat like you’re in a rush, which is not very romantic by the way.”
“Yes, because now I am in a rush so hustle it up. I want to get this beard off.”
Ugh! This man drives me insane! So much for the halo.
Chapter 12
Elliot
Dropping the duffel bag on the bathroom counter of Charlotte’s hotel room, I loosen my tie. Charlotte is watching me with her hands behind her back as I pull a chair into the bathroom and face it towards the sink and mirror.
She continues to watch me as I strip off my shirt and jacket, being sure to hang them on the towel rack with my tie on the top.
Unbuckling my belt, I hear Charlotte clear her throat. I drop my pants and pick them up to hang them as well. I catch Charlotte checking out my bulge beneath my black boxer brief Calvins as I turn to face her.
I sit. I’m so excited. Deep down, I feel like a kid at Christmas and it's taking every ounce of courage and strength to maintain some level of coolness.
She grabs a towel and checks out my chest before she lays it on me, draping it over my shoulders.
Charlotte turns around to fumble with the clippers and razors that she pulls out of the duffel bag. As she leans over the counter, getting everything in place, her bubble ass is staring me right in the face. I lean in, opening my mouth and getting as close as possible then pretend to take a bite. Damn, I want to bite it!
Charlotte backs up and the cushion of her ass bumps me in the face.
“Oh, sorry!” she exclaims with clippers in hand.
“It’s okay,” I smile and grip behind her thighs while pulling her closer to me between my legs to sandwich her between my own thighs.
Charlotte powers on the clippers, leans down, and begins to clip away the beard.
I close my eyes to enjoy this moment. It feels so good to be close to her, to feel her grooming me. It makes every inch of my body tingle like I’ve been drugged. Charlotte is my drug. I went twelve years into remission, but with one glance, I was already back to being hooked. Addicted.
My face soon feels exposed and after just a few minutes, I open my eyes to notice Charlotte is beginning to feel uneasy. The towel over my chest falls away to the floor and now she’s panting.
“Mr. Nine,” she asks, “what’s your first name?”
“Nine is not my actual last name,” I respond. “It’s a nickname.”
She dips in closer like she’s afraid to look at my whole face. “Nickname for what?”
“I think you should use the razor now, Charlotte,” I encourage before she clips my whole face away.
“Oh right,” she says and turns around to grab the shaving cream.
She’s trembling as she spreads the foam over my jaw then starts to stroke the disposable quad blade razor over my face. With each swipe, she turns to run the razor under warm running water. With her back to me, she asks again, “Why do people call you Mr. Nine if that’s not your real name?”
“I’m one of four Nines—the Nine Inch Males. It’s the group name my buddies and I gave to ourselves back in high school. We were real geeks back then, but a few of our close friends still like to joke about it. I get called Mr. Nine all the time.”
“Nine Inch Males,” she sighs and pauses. “NIM.”
I grab her hips. “Charlotte, you’re not done.”
Her chest expands, taking an enormous breath, and then she exhales slowly as she turns to face me with the razor in hand, held high. I’m starting to feel a little nervous as she eyeballs my jaw, then my bulge, and my jaw again.
She bends down to shave the last of the foam off my face. “So, is it really nine inches?” she asks.
“A bit longer—ow!” She’s nicked me.
“I’m sorry,” she cries.
I put my finger to my jawline and examine the slick ooze of blood on my fingertips.
Charlotte leans over me—her tits in my face, to grab a towel on the rack behind me and she comes back to wipe my jaw and fingers off.
“How do I look?” I ask.
She tilts her head forward and downs a hard swallow. “Like someone I know.”
“Here,” I say and spread each eye open to pull out my green contacts revealing my light brown eyes underneath. “How about now?”
Charlotte bats her eyes with a sulk. I can’t tell if she’s happy or upset.
“Can you get my glasses from the bag so I can see myself? I can’t see without my contact lenses.”
She reluctantly digs into the bag and when she finds the pair of black square-framed glasses. She shoves them at me. I’m trying not to smile too hard as I put them on.
Charlotte comes into focus and she’s staring at me with the most forlorn look in her eyes—her brows are crinkled and her lips are pursed tight like she’s angry. I can tell she’s at odds with seeing me, the old me, the real me.
“Well?” I huff. “What do you think? Do you think this girl is going to like me or not?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Crowe,” she pouts turning around to empty the water from the sink. “Why don’t you take your fucking pill and find out.”
Ah shit! She’s figured it out.
“The development of that pill is your fault,” I point to the mirror so she sees me.
“My fault?” she gawks, facing me. “I haven’t seen you in over ten years and you’re going to blame me for some date rape drug that you and your geek friends invented.”
“It’s not a date rape drug. It only increases the number of pheromones I put out, which increases your reaction to my body chemistry thereby exposing our mutual or nonmutual attraction while accelerating the reproductive process cascade.”
“Elliot, I can’t...I don’t...never mind,” she throws her hands ups and huffs.
She tries to storm out. My heart sinks but my body rises. I stand up to grab her by the arm and the neck, trapping her between the counter and me. She is not getting away this time. She tries to shove me away, but I keep her pinned, leaning on her—our chests together. I want to hold her, but she keeps her head turned away.