I introduced my girlfriend to my parents this past weekend and it was amazing. We had brunch at my parents’ house, and we all sat around the dining table, exchanging stories and having one of the best times I’ve had in a long time. At one point my mom took my girl up to her room—my mom sells beauty products—and when they came back downstairs, my mom had given my girlfriend a makeover . . . or should I say, make-under. Awful, man, she looked awful, and the worst thing is, since then, she’s continued to fluff her hair and wear her makeup just like my mom. It’s disturbing how much they resemble each other, and I have no idea what to say because my girl is already self-conscious. How do I break it to her that the “improvements” are actually downgrades?
Don’t Want to Eff My Mom
Dear Don’t Want to Eff My Mom,
First of all, right there with you. If my girl was sporting the same hair and makeup as my mom, we’d have a real issue. You want to be sensitive to your girl, especially if she has image issues already. So I would maybe gently tell her that even though you always think she’s beautiful, she’s showing a deep resemblance to your mom, and it’s freaking you out. I’m sure if you throw down the gauntlet of not wanting to look down at her while you’re thrusting and picture your mom, that would snap her into shape. Give it a shot and be as gentle as possible, and when she takes the shit off her face, go alpha on that ass. Show her just how beautiful she is.
Good luck, Gent,
The Modern Gentleman
WES
THE MEET AND GREET
“The time has come,” I say once our drinks are delivered to our table.
Caden looks at me confused. “The time has come for what?”
I fold my hands on the table and look between my two friends. “The time has come for you two to meet June.”
Roman leans back in his chair and twists his beer on the table. “You want us to meet your girl? Are you sure about that?”
“No,” I answer on a laugh. “But I know things are getting serious. I met General Fitzbum’s owner the other day, and June referred to me as her boyfriend. When we were walking through the park, I called her out on it and she shrugged casually and said, ‘Yeah, you’re my boyfriend.’”
“So it’s official,” Caden says. “Congratulations, man.” He shakes his head. “Never thought this assignment would lead to you meeting someone. It’s kind of crazy.”
“Yeah, I think about that all the time. I wonder if I would have been as open to June if I hadn’t felt pressured to find someone. I would have thought she was beautiful, but I don’t think I would have asked for her phone number—”
“A phone number you didn’t get,” Roman points out.
“Either way. I’m not sure I’d have tried to ask for it if it wasn’t for the assignment. Think I lucked out.”
“How is the assignment going, by the way? Any news from Frank about the book thing?” Caden asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet. I turned in a proposal last week. Still think it’s weird. Not sure anyone would want to read it, but whatever. If they want to publish it, that’s fine with me.”
“I bet they take it,” Caden says. “It’s a good gimmick. There could be a ton of sponsorships available, everything that would turn the regular guy into The Modern Gentleman. You could have your own clothing line, hygiene line, shoe line . . .”
“Lingerie line,” Roman adds. “Dude, we could capitalize on this. I have experience in marketing, you know. Caden wants to be a CEO or COO of something. I say we break off from HYPE and create our own company.”
“Uh, are you two insane? The only reason this is a possibility is because of Frank.”
“Yes, but the intellectual property of The Modern Gentleman belongs to you. Frank can do all he wants, but you don’t need to take anything from him. You could shop this proposal out to all publishers, not just his friend,” Caden says.
Huh, do I really have intellectual property?
“I don’t know. Feels like I’m going behind Frank’s back.”
“No, you’re creating opportunities,” Roman says. “Think about it, and before you sign anything, speak with us. Frank is most likely going to take credit and a percentage of all your hard work. You don’t need him. He needs you.”
“Without HYPE, The Modern Gentleman wouldn’t be anything.”
Caden takes a sip of his drink and says, “Without The Modern Gentleman, HYPE would have some serious financial issues. Look at the numbers, man. Your column is what brings readers to HYPE. Easily the most views on the entire website.”
“We could create a successful brand,” Roman says.
I look between my two best friends, confused how we got so off track.
“Maybe we table that idea right now and go back to why I brought you here: meeting June.”
“What about it?” Roman asks. “You know we’re going to meet her. Just tell us when and where.”
“That’s not it.” I look them both in the eyes. “I don’t want you embarrassing me.”
They exchange looks and then laugh. “Okay, sure.” Roman nods. “Yup, we won’t embarrass you.”
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, we know,” Caden says with a smirk.
“Guys . . . please.”
“We won’t,” they both say at the same time, and can you blame me? I don’t believe them one bit.
* * *
“Before we go in there, I just want to remind you: take what they say with a grain of salt.”
June smiles at me, cups my cheek, then stands on her toes, pressing a kiss to my lips. That will never get old.
Never.
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
“You are not what I’m worried about,” I say under my breath as I hold the door open for my girl. When she walks through, I slide my hand down her back to right above her ass and keep it there as I speak to the hostess. “Reservation under Williams.”
“Ah yes, the rest of your party is already here, right this way.”
Hand still on her lower back, I walk possessively next to June, spotting the guys in the back corner. When they see us, I carefully watch both of their reactions. Caden’s brows both go up while Roman gives her a slow once-over.
Not surprised.
Ae we approach, they both stand. I quickly thank the hostess and then provide introductions. “June, this is Roman and Caden, my best friends. Guys, this is June, my girlfriend. Please don’t be assholes.”
“Never,” says Roman, stepping up and pulling June into a hug.
Since Caden is in the corner, he gives her a handshake over the table, and then we all sit down.
“So, did I just get further with you than Wes after three dates?”
Pretty much.
June laughs and says, “I don’t think we hugged until the third date, so that’s accurate. Looks like you’ve been talking about me.”
“More like blabbing, the guy won’t stop talking about you. And we must applaud you,” Roman says for both him and Caden. “You did quite the job on our man’s balls. A-plus work. Top of the line. Never seen anything like it.”
If this is a precursor to the night, I’m in for a long, long dinner.
“It was my first time using a tang to puncture someone’s thang.” She fluffs her hair. “But I think I nailed it.”
Roman and Caden both break out in laughter while June moves her hand to my thigh, keeping it there for reassurance.
Okay, if she has to poke fun at me to get in with my boys, I’ll allow it. I want them to get along—badly. I don’t have family here, so these guys are like a pseudo-family to me. Their opinions matter.
“Did Wes tell you he dropped his pants so we could see the massacre you created at work? And our boss walked in, then screamed ‘balls’ down the hallway as he ran away?” Roman asks.
“Seriously?” June laughs and turns to me. “You showed these men your balls, even though I haven’t seen them yet?”
“Uh, you just let me touch your l
eg for the first time the other day. Why on earth would I show you my balls? Especially under those conditions?”
“For the record”—she holds her finger up, and I’m loving the playful banter in her voice already—“you’ve been touching my leg for weeks now. Way to lie to look better in front of your friends.” Both guys cover their mouths and say “ohhh” at the same time. “And also, I would’ve wanted to see your scrotum contusion because it’s one of those things that you need to see, but don’t want to see, but you can’t look away . . . only to sprint away, as vomit climbs up your throat.”
“It’s the only reason I wanted to see it,” Caden said. “And when I blink, sometimes I still see it.”
“Shut the hell up.” I chuckle.
“I have dreams of the right nut, trying to suffocate me with its swollenness,” Roman says as the waitress comes to our table.
We quickly order drinks and dinner, and I’m grateful for the interruption, because once she leaves, Caden asks, “How are rehearsals, June? Wes told us you were cast in the chorus line for the revival of The Music Man. That’s pretty incredible. The odds of being cast on a Broadway production are next to impossible.”
“Thank you.” June smiles brightly and squeezes my leg. “Rehearsals are great. Tiring, but great. I’ve never danced so much in my life and ‘Seventy-Six Trombones’ is on constant replay in my head, even when I sleep, but I’m having so much fun. I do miss my scheduled walks with General Fitzbum. I get to see him on the weekends, though, which is nice. But if you ever want to hear some gossip, hang around a Broadway chorus line. The things these people know—it’s incredible.”
“Like what?” Roman asks.
Our drinks are dropped off at the table and I take a sip of mine.
June says, “Dating within different companies is borderline incestual. Pretty sure everyone’s junk has touched everyone’s junk at this point. Besides me.” She smiles over her shoulder. “And the drama, oh my God. This guy is cheating on that guy, but he’s also seeing a girl, but then the guy was caught with the director as well? It’s confusing but fascinating.”
“I wouldn’t mind stretching and lending an ear to whatever they have to say,” Roman says.
“Oh, speaking of ears.” June laughs. “They were talking about this advice column the other day and how some guy gave his date a wet willy.” All three of us still. One thing I told the boys not to mention during our get together with June was The Modern Gentleman. I made them promise, especially since Frank put my job on the line if June found out. So the fact that she’s talking about it now has me on high alert.
I eye Roman.
Roman eyes me.
Caden sips his drink.
I silently tell Caden and his conscience, Don’t say a goddamn thing.
He replies with a clenched jaw. I won’t.
Roman sniffs heavily. We both turn to him. Do I get a warning?
Say anything and die, I reply.
Jesus, settle down. Roman twists his drink on the table.
I really think he means murder. Caden shifts in his seat.
Murder by feral cats, I reply, eyeing both of them.
Well . . . at least in my head that’s how it goes.
“Uh, did you tell them?” June asks, waving her hand in front of my face.
“Huh, what?” I ask, sweat creeping around my neck. Shit, I wasn’t paying attention.
She glances around the table, taking in our guilty faces. June is incredibly perceptive, and I doubt she’s going to let this moment pass.
When she folds her arms, eyeing us all, I know she’s not going to.
“Were you three having a silent conversation without me?”
“No,” I say while Roman nods.
“Yup.”
Caden just stares at his drink.
“I see.” She continues to scan the table. “And what exactly were you silently conversing about?”
My mind short-fuses, and I completely draw a blank. What were we talking about?
Well . . . death by feral cats, but that might have just been me.
“Approval, what else?” Roman says with a smirk. “A sly wink, a knowing nod. We approve, June.”
Roman with the save. Which only means I’ll owe him again.
She brings her hand to her heart and says, “Approval already? Man, that wasn’t hard at all. I didn’t even finish the story about how our first kiss was Wes kissing my ear. If anything, I knew that was going to win me approval.”
“Come again,” Caden says, leaning forward, most likely relieved to move past The Modern Gentleman thing.
“That’s what I was getting to before you three started looking at each other weird.” Okay, I feel guilty. “The wet-willy story reminded me of my first kiss with Wes and how he missed my lips completely and caught my ear.”
“Because you turned your head.” I laugh. “Not because I was aiming for your ear.”
“Nonetheless, you kissed my ear.”
Roman and Caden both laugh again, and even though I know our secret conversation wasn’t about approval, I can see it in their eyes. They approve.
And that right there makes me one of the happiest guys there is.
* * *
“Want to come up?” June asks, holding my hand and tugging it toward her apartment complex.
“Yeah . . . I do,” I say, unable to stop the huge smile that crosses my face.
“I thought you’d say that.”
The first time seeing June’s apartment. This could be one of the final hurdles to see if the girl is the real deal or not. A home tells a lot about a person. Right off the bat, just by their possessions, you’ll know if they’re a freak or not. Yeah, it’s like judging a book by its cover, but if you get into a girl’s apartment and she has a framed picture of Adolf Hitler hanging over her couch, you’re going to think twice about asking her out again.
And yes, I realize I probably should have seen her apartment way before we gave each other the titles of “boyfriend” and “girlfriend,” but of course, June has thrown my entire dating timeline out the window, and we’ve gone at her pace, something I’ve included in my articles—not relying on the provided timeline, but creating your own. What I’m offering is a basic outline. It’s not concrete by any means. At least, that’s what I’ve come to find with June.
Once we make it to her second-floor apartment, she unlocks the door and opens it. It’s dark, so she holds my hand and guides me down the narrow hallway, where she flips the lights on.
“Holy mother of God,” I nearly scream, backing into the wall behind me.
“Oh, sorry,” June says, laughing as at least half a dozen dolls stare at us.
Lined up like an army platoon, each ringlet-headed doll has their right arm raised shoulder height and their head cocked to the side, eyes unblinking.
“I forgot to clean up my photo shoot before I left for our date. Completely forgot.”
Hand to heart, I ask, “Why are they lined up like that? Staring, just . . . staring, waiting for when they’re told they can blink?”
“Shows off the clothing at all angles.” June bends down and scoops up the dolls, only to plop them into a box without care. “There, that better?”
“Do they . . . do they have names?”
“If they did, would you leave right now?”
“Good chance I might.”
She chuckles. “Then nope, no names at all.” She tugs on my hand. “Come on, they’re my mannequins. It’s not like I set up tea parties with them on the weekends, complimenting the chapeaus they decided to wear to the mid-morning soiree.”
“I sure as hell hope not.”
She pulls me down on her couch and straddles my lap. “Would it help you forget about the dolls if we made out?”
“I mean, that would ease my anxiety.” I glance around the rest of her apartment, everything else seeming normal and very June-like, with bright colors and her flare for the theater. “As long as they don’t come alive and tap on my
leg for a glass of water, I think we’re going to be okay.”
Calling out to the box of dolls, June says, “Did you hear that, Darla? Don’t drag your limp doll leg over here for a glass of water. We’re not interested in serving you tonight.”
I still, my hands on her hips unmoving, my breath in my chest shortened, only for June to toss her head back and laugh, a throaty, full-of-life laugh.
“Oh God, your face just now was priceless.” She shakes her head. “I promise, they don’t move. They’re as stiff as your erection the other night when we were making out.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, not sure we’re going to see maximum stiffness tonight.”
June lightly caresses the side of my face and asks, “Are you scared of baby dolls, Wesley?”
“I’m scared of turning the lights on to see them all marching together, staring back at me with one thought in their eyes . . . murder.”
“That wasn’t the best introduction to my apartment, I admit, but I swear it’s very comfortable here.” She shakes my shoulders. “Relax. Have some fun.” She moves my hands to her sides and guides them up. “After gaining approval from the best friends, I think we should get to know each other some more, don’t you?” She moves one of my hands briefly across her breast and I swear I swallow my own tongue. “Aren’t you curious what second base is like?”
More curious about a homerun, but I’ll take second if she’s handing it out.
“You know I am,” I say, taking a deep breath, letting her move my hand around her body until she brings it back to her thighs and slips it under the hem of her dress. My head falls back on the couch and my gaze lands on her brilliantly greedy eyes as she moves my hand farther up until I reach her hip and the small piece of fabric wrapped around it. “Hell, June. What do you want? Tell me, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” she says, releasing my hand and leaning down to press the lightest of kisses across my mouth while she toys with the hem of my sweater, lifting if up, exposing my skin to the cool night air.
The Modern Gentleman Page 14