Did she mean second base with me . . . or with her? Clearly, I’d prefer with her, but if she wants to play around with my chest, flick around my nipples a bit, I guess there’s nothing wrong with that.
As she continues to drag my sweater up, I hold her still, feeling my body relax and my dick harden. I know he won’t get any action tonight, well aware of how slow this is going to be, but I make a promise to take care of things later. And by now, he knows I live up to that promise, because let’s just say I’ve been more . . . handsy since my first kiss with June. Right now, I need to commit all this to memory, though. Every single silky second.
The feel of her sitting on my lap, her legs tightly clinging to each side of me.
The way her breath sounds shallow, turned on, with every pass of her hand over my bare skin.
The sound of her voice when she speaks softly, asking for what she wants.
“Lift up,” she says. “I want your shirt off.”
Excitement beats through me. Yeah, I can take this slow, as long as she keeps moving us forward, and this is the right direction. If I’m lucky, she might add some dry-humping into the mix. I shift forward on her slightly lumpy couch, she frees me of my shirt, and I lean back just as her eyes fall to my defined chest.
And the most horrifying sound of my life rings through her apartment.
As if Satan himself tickled his pointy Jafar-like fingers up my neck, and spoke directly into my ear, a demonic, gargled, and deathly deep, “MaMaaa,” sounds through the apartment.
“Jesus, fuck,” I say, scrambling up and off the couch, June tossed to the side. “What the hell is that?”
“Mama,” the sound comes again, this time, slower, like it’s dying. “Ma . . . ma.”
“June, what the actual fuck?”
When I glance at her, she has tears running down her face, as she silently laughs and reaches into the crevice of the couch . . . pulling a naked doll out by the leg. The thing is missing an eye, its hair—the hair that’s left—is reaching up to heaven, looking for salvation, and its nipples are green.
Why . . . why are the nipples green?
“Ma . . . maaaaa,” it repeats in such a low voice, that I’m pretty sure it could beat out James Earl Jones for deepest voice over.
“Oh my . . . God,” June says, while gripping her stomach and laughing so hard she bends at the waist and starts coughing. She wipes under her eyes, snagging her tears of humor. “I forgot Magdalene was in there.”
“What the fuck is a Magdalene?”
“That’s her name.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “No, sorry. Can’t do this.” I reach for my shirt, and June laughs some more. She stands to stop me from dressing.
“Wes, stop. It’s fine.”
“Uh, did you hear the way that thing called out to you? It was like, if you didn’t pop its eye back in its socket, it was going to start mapping out a plan to eat your foot while you’re sleeping.”
“It’s an old doll—”
“It needs to go into the incinerator.”
“No, she has the perfect measurements for a particular doll that’s quite popular with my older demographic. There’s no way I’d ever get rid of her. Granted, bad timing to forget that she’s stuck in the couch, but she’s quite a lovely doll.”
“Um, Margarine is anything but lovely.”
“Magdalene,” she corrects me.
“Either way, she’s a nightmare.” I drag my hand over my beard and say, “I really want to make out with you and let your hands wander, but I’m pretty sure my dick has turned inside out at this point.”
“Oh God.” She snorts and covers her mouth. “Really not a doll fan, huh?”
“No. Frankly, it speaks volumes right now that I’m still here in your apartment, talking rationally with you, instead of there being a Wes-shaped hole in your front door. Just goes to show how much I like you.”
“Aww.” She tosses the demonic doll into the box, it shouts off one more “mama,” muffled and almost sad.
Good God, I will never be the same.
I’m shaken to my core—and yeah, maybe that’s dramatic, but seriously, that thing could have dragged its plastic doll nails across my skin. Who knows what kind of diseases I could contract? And the nightmares I’ll have, the thoughts of it popping out of nowhere in my apartment. I’m sleeping with a Swiss army knife in hand.
June helps me put my sweater back on. “I guess I’m oddly flattered that after such unprecedented encounters, you’ve been able to keep your wits about you—somewhat—and see through this evening.”
“Frankly, it’s a miracle.”
Her hands fall to my chest. She lifts up on her toes and presses a quick kiss to my lips. “I’m sorry your penis shriveled up.”
“Can’t hear that enough from my girlfriend.”
She chuckles and presses another kiss to my lips. “So I’m still your girlfriend despite you getting a glimpse of my freak flag?”
I slip my arm around her waist and keep her close. “Yeah, as long as those things are always put away when I come over.”
“That can be arranged.” She plays with the fabric of my shirt and says, “Thank you for introducing me to your friends tonight. I had a lot of fun with them.”
“No need to thank me. I’m glad you met them, June July.”
Chapter Fourteen
Dear Modern Gentleman,
Let’s talk lingerie. Do I buy it for my girl? And if I do, what do I get? I have some fantasies that I’d love to see her act out, but I’m nervous she’s going to see me waving my freak flag, lingerie attached to the top. What are the dos and don’ts when it comes to buying intimate apparel for my girl? I don’t want to mess this up. Thanks.
Ready to Get Freaky
Dear Ready to Get Freaky,
Lingerie, every man’s fantasy, especially when the wearer struts into the room, wearing nothing but a thong, bra, and thigh-highs on. That’s perfection right there. Your purchase really depends on how adventurous your girl is and what she already has in her drawer. If she’s the kind of girl who keeps to the cotton affair, honor the fact that she likes to be comfortable. Don’t buy her a G-string and nipple tassels thinking that’s going to work. Keep it simple, classy. But if your girl is already spunky in that sacred underwear drawer, I’d say push a little further past what she normally wears, feel her out. If you get a green light, then I’d start seeing how much further you can take it. Baby steps, though. And never, ever forget to tell her how sexy she is. The more confidence you can instill in her, the more you’re going to be able to explore.
Good luck, Gent,
The Modern Gentleman
WES
THE DIRTY DEED
“How does your ass feel?” Roman asks, tossing me the basketball. We’re casually shooting around, nothing serious, just getting out for some fresh air after five hours of meetings today.
Frank decided to have a brainstorming meeting going over all the analytics of each article, reading the comments, and seeing where we can make tweaks and adjustments.
Hell on earth is the only way to describe what we just went through, and the only thing that kept me from knocking myself out on the conference table was the spread of deli sandwiches and pickles brought in at one o’clock. It was a lifeline that pushed me through the end of the meeting.
Another reason I’m out here casually playing basketball is to help burn some of the excessive calories I consumed by eating four sandwiches.
Yes, four.
FOUR!
And three pickles.
Two cookies.
Three bags of chips.
#NotAshamed
There was nothing gentlemanly about my consumption of food today. Nope. I licked my fingers, I burped into my closed fist, and I sat back in my chair at one point and rubbed my stomach.
So why Roman is asking about my ass, I have no clue. If anything, he should see if I have any room left in my stomach.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, toss
ing up the ball and missing horribly to the left. Yikes, maybe Roman was right—my jump shot has suffered.
Caden picks up the rebound, bounces it into the basket, and then tosses the ball to Roman, who positions himself at the three-point line. “I just figured you might be sore after that meeting, you know, since Frank was crawling up your ass every chance he got.”
Oh.
He’s such an idiot—Roman that is, not Frank.
Well, Frank is an idiot too.
“I normally stay out of this shit,” Caden says, stepping in. “But I agree, Frank was really up your ass today, and do you know why? Because he knows how valuable you are.”
“Funny you say that, since he said anyone could take my place. Anyone could run the column.”
“He said that because he’s scared,” Roman says, taking the shot and making it cleanly. “He’s scared you’re going to go off on your own. He might have good intentions with the whole book deal thing, but the numbers your column is pulling in surpass everyone’s by the day. Especially with the new article. It’s like reading a romance novel, but only getting a chapter every other day. People are chomping at the tit to find out what’s going to happen next.”
“The saying is ‘chomping at the bit,’” I correct him.
“Not in my world. Always chomping at the tit over here.” He winks and then steals the ball from me, knocking it out of my hands. “Face it, this thing exploded more than anyone expected. They talked about it on New York One this morning. It’s only a matter of time before it goes to national TV.”
“Which, in that case . . .” Caden gives me a look. I know that look. The morality police is clocking in. “You should really tell June what’s going on.”
“But Frank said—”
“That he’ll fire you?” Caden rolls his eyes. “I dare him to. He would lose everything. The contract you signed when you came to HYPE clearly states you own the intellectual property. Did you not read it?”
Maybe not. *Winces*
“You might be full-time but you’re also freelance in a way, bringing your idea and selling it on HYPE’s website,” Caden continues. “Frank can’t do anything that would hurt you, which means you should tell June, especially since she’s clearly hanging out with people who follow the article.”
Information that could have been helpful earlier on . . .
“But I don’t use names in the articles,” I say, trying to wrap my head around all of this.
“So you’re telling me if June read the articles you’ve written, she won’t recognize that it’s her?” Caden tosses the ball to me. “How many guys do you think get a contusion to the testicle on first dates?”
Valid point.
I toss the ball to Roman, who dribbles casually and then shoots and scores. “Hell, you might be right.”
“I know I’m right. You need to tell her, and honestly, how would Frank really know? It’s not like he can contact June. You’re almost done with the assignment, your book proposal is done. You owe it to her to tell her, before this blows up even more, because from the looks of it, it’s going to be huge.”
“Yeah.” I push my hand through my hair, thinking about the stats Frank put up on the screen today. They are alarmingly high. It actually made me sick to my stomach to see how many people are invested in my “How-To Guide.” And I’ve been lucky. June is disconnected from that part of the world, thankfully, but I can’t skate away without her knowing forever.
What will she say when I tell her, though? Will she believe I like her? That this isn’t about tricking her for an article, but about me finding someone special?
“Why do you have that unsure look on your face?” Roman asks, holding the basketball at his side. “It’s pretty simple, you just tell her.”
“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t go over well? What if she breaks up with me?” I run my hand through my hair. “I’m, uh . . .” I look off to the side. “I’m starting to fall for her.”
“Starting?” Roman scoffs. “Dude, you’re already plummeting off the cliff where this girl is concerned.”
I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right. Things have moved pretty fast with June where my feelings are concerned. I think about her constantly, wishing I could text her throughout the day, waiting for the moment when I leave work and she’s out of rehearsal and I get to see her, or just talk to her on the phone. Starting to fall for her seems like an understatement. I’m more than falling for her. I’m already there.
I feel it deep in my bones.
This girl was made to make me smile.
She was brought into my life to challenge me.
Our paths crossed so I could fall in love . . . for the first time in my life.
“Fuck,” I mutter, putting both my hands on my hips.
“Yup, fuck is right,” Caden says, patting me on the back. “Sooner rather than later, buddy. Rip the Band-Aid off. Trust us, you’re going to be grateful you did.”
* * *
“Oh my God, you smell amazing,” June says, flinging herself at me as she comes into my apartment. She runs her nose along my neck and takes a deep whiff, making me laugh out loud. “Seriously, that Man Soap is my undoing.”
I shut the door behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, bringing her in for a kiss. “I missed you,” I whisper against her lips.
“I missed you too. Three days is far too long to not see your handsome face.” She practically climbs me like a tree, wrapping her legs around my waist. “And these lips. I missed them.” Her mouth passes over mine, the pressure so light that it makes me dizzy more than anything. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”
I pull away. “Seriously?”
She chuckles. “To talk, hang out. Honestly, do you always have sex on the brain?”
“Yes,” I deadpan. “Yes, June, I do. Especially when my girlfriend is as fine as you.”
She chuckles and then hops down. That’s when I take her in. Leggings, same cropped sweater she’s worn before, hair tousled over her shoulders, still damp from her shower. Her rehearsals have been brutal lately, especially since they’re closing in on opening day. Just a few more weeks and I get to see my girl on Broadway. There’s nothing that can stop me from seeing her perform.
Hand in mine, she pulls me toward my bedroom but stops at the start of my hallway. Spinning around, excitement on her face, she says, “I almost forgot to tell you the big news.”
“What?” I ask.
Purse still on her shoulder, she reaches into it and pulls out a phone, covered in a red case. “I bought a cell phone today.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I ask, my eyes nearly falling out of their sockets.
“Yup, and guess whose number I put in first?”
“Better be mine,” I say, pulling her in close and kissing the side of her head. “Does this mean I get to text you during the day?”
She nods. “Yes, and your first text better be a picture of us since I don’t have any. I need something for my wallpaper.”
I take my phone from my pocket and quickly unlock it. I have her enter her new phone number—she had to look at the settings to remember it—and then I send her every pic I have in my phone of us. We head into my room where we lie on the bed and look through the pictures, going over which one she thinks would be best. She doesn’t want to use the same one I have, so she goes with a simple one of us in the park with the general.
“I can’t believe you have a phone,” I say as we both set our phones on the nightstand. “What made you get one?”
“Well, it’s not because I was missing you more.” She smiles as we face each other, my hand on her side, both her hands tucked under her head.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Well, maybe a bit more of that, but also my director made me get one. He said it was impossible to be informed of schedule changes without a cell phone, and I was burning through my pay-by-the-minute phone, so I caved. I spent two hours in the store this afternoon during my break getting the
clerk guy to show me how to use it.”
“I could have showed you.”
She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t want to have our heads buried in a phone when I came over. I haven’t seen you for three days, and I wanted to look at your handsome face.”
And that’s just one of the reasons I’ve fallen for this girl. She’s present. She’s always present with me.
“That’s a good answer, June July.”
“It’s the truth.” She twists our legs together and says, “So what have I missed in the last few days?”
This would be the perfect time to tell her about the article, the assignment, and the book proposal, but as I stare into her smiling eyes, taking in the way they sparkle when they look back at me, I don’t want to break this moment. I haven’t seen her in three days, I’ve missed her terribly, and all I want to do is get wrapped up in her, just for the evening.
Swallowing hard, I draw a circle on her bare side and say, “Not much, just me pining after my girl, waiting for her to call me when she got home.”
Propping her head up, she asks, “Have you been pathetic, Wes?”
I chuckle and nod. “Really pathetic.”
“Poor guy.” She reaches out and pats my cheek. “What did you miss?”
“Everything,” I sigh. I move my hand to her ribs, loving her silky soft bare skin under my palm. “Your smile, your teasing, the way you so easily bust my balls, and your compliments. I love that you say whatever you want.” I slide my hand under her cropped sweater, and her eyes turn to fire. “And I love the way you look at me, with passion, intrigue, and intensity. No one has ever looked at me the way you do.” I move my hand up farther and she sucks in a breath . . . and that’s when I realize she’s missing something. She bites on her bottom lip as I barely croak out, “Are you not wearing a bra?”
She shakes her head. “Thought it would be easier to get to second base.”
“Christ,” I say, moving in closer and moving my hand to right below her breasts. As if she just soaked my body in gasoline and flicked a lit match on me, my entire body is encased in flames as our foreheads press together.
The Modern Gentleman Page 15