by Frankie Love
“So...” she starts, before losing her words. “Have you had a good month?”
“It was boring. You were gone.”
“Ha. As if you had no one to play with all month.” She smirks and I realize I’ve never seen such a sassy side of Gracie.
“You okay?”
She shrugs, spearing a tomato with her fork.
Another diner asks for my autograph and as I sign it, I see her sink into her seat. Then she adjusts the strapless top and releases a deep breath.
“What’s your deal, Gracie?” I ask her after the fan leaves our table.
“It’s the dress.”
“Well then let’s go. Don’t be crazy.”
“You think I’m crazy?”
“I think you are getting worked up here for nothing. We can eat our pasta or we can go. What do you wanna do? Because there’s nothing to be stressed about. You seemed chill at your apartment ... but now... I don’t know.”
She sighs loudly, flustered. “It’s been a long few weeks okay? My parents drove me nuts, my internship is a disaster, my research paper is an even bigger one. I just...” She exhales again, and then her eyes get huge. Welling with tears instantly.
“Gracie, what’s wrong?”
“My dress zipper just busted,” she squeaks out, closing her eyes. “Fuck, Cooper. I’m such a mess next to you. Look at you. You are a fucking superstar. And now my clothes are falling off.”
I stand, pull off my suit coat, and drape it around Gracie’s shoulders, not before looking at the gaping rip in her backside. “You are not a disaster.”
She sits up straighter with the jacket on, pulling it tighter around her.
“You have no idea, Cooper. Somehow my life went to shit in three weeks.”
“You should have called and told me.”
She furrows her brows, confused. “Why would I call you, Cooper? You are....” She waves her hand at me as if that’s self-explanatory.
“Because we’re friends,” I say, calling the waiter over and asking for a check.
“Friends? Cooper, we don’t even know one another’s birthdays. You’ve never met my parents. We aren’t friends. We’re ...”
My jaw tenses as I pay the bill.
“Okay, I get it, Gracie. You want this thing between us to just be about what’s on the list. Nothing more.”
“That’s not what I was saying,” she says.
I offer her my arm as we walk toward the exit.
She takes it, but then her heel catches on a rug. I reach for her, but she’s already pitched forward, my suit coat sliding off her shoulders, her broken zipper exposed... and then the zipper isn’t just broken, it’s completely useless, and she flings her hands forward to catch herself.
The dress is ripped from top to bottom and suddenly it’s just a piece of pretty fabric on the floor. Her strapless dress is off, her bra-less breasts in plain view... and her bare ass is in the air.
I pull her to stand, and she is naked from head to toe except for those fuck me now heels.
Her eyes are shell shocked, wide, and surprised. Her body is fucking hot as hell, but she doesn’t want to hear that. There are gasps all around us, guests horrified at seeing this bare-naked woman in the middle of their romantic dinner.
I grab my jacket, pull it around her shoulders, the hem of it more than long enough to cover her ass. I grab her shredded dress from the floor, and pull my arm around her, tucking her close to me. “It’s okay, Gracie,” I tell her. “Just keep walking.”
We walk past the valet, the line of taxis, and I drag her further down the busy city street. The night is alive–couples everywhere, vendors peddling single roses and the smell of greasy carts of food on the corners.
Gracie is in my arms, and I am holding her tight, not wanting to stop because I’m scared this girl will have a complete meltdown. She was near one before her dress fell off, and I have no idea what really has her so wound up.
Is being out with me really that scary of a proposition?
Finally, we make our way down a secluded side street, and I drag her down a narrow alley, not even big enough for a car. Brick buildings are on either side of us, the sky above black with only a few pinpricks of stars.
The noisy street is in the distance as I drag her further down the alley, past a dumpster, beyond a stack of wooden crates.
We stop at the dead end, no one is here. The noise of the city around us, sure, but in this space, all I hear is her tender heartbeat. With her back against the brick wall, I step closer to her.
I look down at Gracie, her face streaked with tears, but damn she looks like a glittery girl, spun up just for me. The suit coat exposes the rise of her breasts, her flat tummy, and her bare pussy. Her legs look as long as sin in those heels, and I want every piece of her body.
“I can’t believe that happened,” she starts, her words scratchy, as if her throat is dry.
“Shhh,” I tell her. “It just makes the next part easier.”
Her eyes are wide, written in confusion. “What do you mean, Cooper? I was just at the hippest restaurant in town, naked. With a man who is basically a sex God in not only my mind but also the mind of every woman in that place. I saw the way women were looking at you, Coop. Bet you’ve screwed half of them. I just feel so...”
I nod, trying to understand and to also not be offended. “You didn’t like going out with me?”
She shakes her head. “I felt like a fraud. Like I wasn’t enough. I mean you take out women who are so much more than me. I haven’t had a proper date in two years and here I am, with you. Cooper Bentley, the hottest catcher NYC has ever seen.”
“You saw the article then?” I sigh, not thinking she’d care that I was voted NYC’s most desired bachelor.
“Of course, I saw it. Every woman saw it.”
“But when I came to your apartment you seemed so relaxed.”
“When it’s just us, I do feel relaxed, Cooper. I feel safe in my apartment. But out here?” She shakes her head, looking around, and I use my thumb to wipe away her tears.
“No one is here but us.”
“I ruined tonight by being so insecure.”
“Stop it, seriously, Gracie. You didn't ruin anything. And you have nothing to be insecure about.”
She bites her bottom lip, still shaking her head.
“What? Why are you shaking your head?” I ask.
“You didn’t have sex with me last time. I thought maybe ....”
“What did you think?”
“That you didn’t like what you saw or tasted or whatever.” Her hands flutter to her face, but I push them way, wanting her to see my eyes.
“Are you kidding me? I liked everything. I loved everything. And tonight, I’m having it all. I’m having you.”
Her eyes go wide in shock.
“Sex in a public place, Gracie. And look, you’re already undressed,” I smirk.
Her eyes flutter in realization, and a smile spreads across her lips. I unbuckle my belt, drop my pants and boxers, and roll on a condom.
I press my mouth to Gracie’s neck, planting kisses until I reach her ear. Then I breathe hot against her, causing her to squirm in anticipation. I run my hands under the jacket, over her little ass, and lift her off the ground.
With her back against the wall, I kiss her hard, her lips parting again, my cock rock hard. “I’m fucking you, Gracie, do you understand?”
“Yes, Cooper. Do it. Do it now.”
I don’t wait. I run my hand over her slick pussy, dipping a finger in her folds, getting her ready to sit on my ten-inch cock.
“This is going to make you forget about the strip tease at the pasta joint.”
“Promise?” she asks, her arms wrapped around my neck.
“Promise.”
I let my cock sink into her warm pussy, and damn this girl is tight. My cock fills her until she’s moaning above me. Her tits against my chest and I pull back so I can see them bounce up and down as I fuck her.
&
nbsp; “Oh, Cooper,” she pants, grinding against me. “You feel so... so... oh, god.”
She loves it, being filled by me, and I thrust deep into her cunt, wanting her to know exactly what my cock can do.
Her pussy tightens around me, she’s close to coming, and I’m glad because holy fuck I know I’m not gonna last long.
“Cooper, that, oh, yeah,” she purrs, her pussy tightening around me as she comes. She stops grinding, and pulls her arms tighter around me, her pussy walls pulsing as I come too.
“Fuck,” I groan, hating that I’m wearing a condom, wishing I could feel all of her, fill all of her.
“Cooper,” she whispers as our bodies collide. “Shit. Shit.”
“What is it?”
“The cops are here.”
7
Striking Out
March 2017
We didn’t get charged with a misdemeanor but I might as well have been hit with a felony. Regardless, after that night in the alley, my life would never be the same.
The police let us go after Cooper promised them box seats to some home games. It should have pissed me off, watching these grown men look the other way at our crime for the love of the game, but I couldn’t even justify annoyance.
The penalty for a misdemeanor could be a year in jail. Jail. For sex in a public place.
Though, to be honest, part of me thinks it might have been worth it even if I had gotten locked up.
My back against the wall, my body bare, his hands on me like he couldn’t get enough... any insecurity I may have felt for being so inexperienced next to him vanished the moment he filled me with his cock.
In all fairness, the cops didn’t see us until after we screwed, and by the time they walked down the alley, Cooper had his pants pulled up, buckled. Assembled. His jacket wrapped tightly around me as we explained the incident at the restaurant.
“You need to get your girl home, Bentley,” the officer said. Cooper nodded in agreement and hailed us a cab.
The ride to our apartment building was silent. In the space of him parting my legs and pressing himself inside me, I had lost all rational thought. All I could think was that felt so fucking good.
The next day Cooper left for spring training and I knew that I needed to seriously focus on school.
The Kinky List had messed with my mind and I needed to keep my plans in check.
In my advisor’s office, Professor MacKernly frowns, looking at my printed pages. “There’s not enough research here. Talking in circles about Sylvia Plath doesn’t equate to anything substantive.”
“The topic is the problem,” I try to explain. “I’m a women’s study major because I want to advocate for women. So I can work with legislatures and make real change. This paper means nothing to me.”
“It’s the assignment though, Grace.”
“I understand,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “It just seems so arbitrary.”
“Women’s sexuality plays a huge part in gender politics. It’s something you need to really understand in order to advocate effectively.”
I swallow my tears. I’ve literally never had a teacher tell me my work was shitty. It’s always been so easy to ace my assignments.
“I’ll put my nose to the grindstone, Professor, I promise,” I say emphatically. Even though the only grinding I want happening is between Cooper and me. But I know I won’t be getting that anytime soon. He’s in Tampa until next month.
Still, I know what I am going to get, soon enough. Long-distance be damned.
This weekend Cooper and I have a phone date. And we are going to cross a third item off the Kinky List.
“I just don’t get why you won’t come out with me,” Bridget moans. She’s in my apartment, drinking my wine, with some guy named Xavier who I’ve never met before.
“I’m busy. Okay?”
“You’re not busy. You’re just not the same. I don’t know what’s happened, but seriously, Gracie. You’re like a complete shell of who you once were.”
“I am not,” I say, aggressively taking her glass of Pinot Grigio and taking a long sip. “Besides I really need to work on my paper. My prof thinks what I have so far is shit.”
“Your entire life can’t be school.”
“It isn’t. I’ve been reading a lot too. For pleasure.”
Bridget scowls. “I know you like to alternate between reading your Kindle and doing school work, but I swear you haven’t left your apartment in weeks for anything but class. I mean... I’m worried about you.”
I lower a brow. “Seriously? You’re so worried, you and Xavier decided to swing by my apartment and randomly ask if I wanted to hang out?” I glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes until I need them out of here.
“Whoa, my spicy enchilada,” Xavier says to me wagging a finger. “Bridget is very worried about her senorita. She wants you to come to the house bar, and so do I. Just put on a dress and come, you little salsa verde.”
“House bar?” I shake my head confused. At the house bar reference, but also at Xavier’s bizarre fetish with Mexican food.
“Yes, a house bar in Brooklyn,” Bridget says, exasperated. “It’s the thing now. No one wants to go out to shitty bars anymore so people open their own bars. In their walk-ups. It’s super fun.”
“So... it’s just a party. People are having parties.” I clarify, “In their apartments.”
Xavier shakes his head. “No, my crunchy taco, not a party. House bar. Much classier.”
“Sounds super fun, but like I said. I have plans.”
“With who?” Bridget asks again. When I don’t answer, she flings her arms in the air, exasperated, and grabs her purse. “This is such bullshit. Are you just like, breaking up with me? Is that what this is?”
“I’m not breaking up with you. I just don’t want to go out.”
How am I supposed to explain that for the past month when I haven’t been working on my paper, I’ve been reading every single steamy romance novel I could download to get... comfortable.
I need to know how things work down there. As a teenager, I never got on the masturbating-train. As a co-ed, I never had time for “self-care”... all I cared about were 4.0’s. It never felt relevant to grab some triple A’s and a rabbit and get down and dirty.
Mostly because I’d never had a legit orgasm until I met Cooper.
I had no idea what I could be experiencing. Now that I do? I pretty much want to practice every day. Or honestly, more often than that. Because oh my God ... getting off is nearly as good as people say.
I no longer judge the horn-dog teenage boys in American Pie. If I could press my pussy in a freshly baked pastry, knowing it would feel like Cooper’s cock inside of me, you better believe I’d be rolling out crusts 24/7.
“I’m sorry. I just want to be alone tonight.”
She scoffs in disgust. “I don’t know what’s happened to you.”
“For years, I’ve always done anything you wanted. Remember that party you dragged me to on New Year’s?”
“Why are still you throwing that in my face? I wanted to go to a sex club.
I thought you’d think it was both exciting and hilarious. Instead, your takeaway is that I’m a selfish brat for trying to give you a memorable New Years. But Gracie – it’s March. It’s time you moved on.”
I blink back tears, hating that I’ve upset her so much.
She grabs Xavier’s hand and pulls him to the door. “And you know what,” she adds. “I think it’s time I moved on too. I’m over this, Gracie. Don’t call me unless you want to be an actual friend instead of this self-obsessed whatever.”
She storms out the door. I burst into tears.
I look at the clock.
Two minutes until Cooper is set to call.
8
Rabbits, Cucumbers, and FaceTime, (Oh My!)
March 2017
I wipe my eyes. Blow my nose. Pull out my MacBook and sit cross-legged on my couch. This doesn’t feel intimate or sexy... not at a
ll like I’d planned.
I’d chilled some white wine–that Bridget cracked right open. I’d bought some lingerie that I wanted to put on first, but I don’t want to be late for the call.
Everything with Bridget may be a total clusterfuck, but I’ve been looking forward to this night with Cooper for weeks.
A FaceTime calls pulls up. I accept it, reaching for Bridget’s half-empty glass as the screen loads.
I didn’t even pause to look in the mirror and make sure I didn’t have raccoon eyes. Which I do. My mascara is running and my nose is red and fuck, why couldn’t she have shown up any another time?
“Gracie?” Cooper asks, his face coming into focus. His hair wavier than I remembered, loose around his face. Freckles I’d never noticed before, highlighting his penny-colored eyes.
“Hey, Coop,” I say, then licking my lips and running my pointer fingers under my eyes for damage control.
“You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“You are such a terrible liar,” Cooper says, leaning against a pillow. I know he’s leased an apartment with his friend Gabe, and I assume he’s in his room.
Ignoring his comment, I say, “Your apartment nice?”
“You wanted to FaceTime so we could talk about rented furniture?”
“No.” I shake my head, feeling so flustered and out of sorts... so not in the mood to strip to nothing and part my legs for Cooper. “The evening just went to shit and I wasn’t expecting it.”
Cooper frowns. “Sorry Gracie.” He sits up in this bed, pulling his laptop into his lap. “Is it about school, your research paper? Or are your parents still giving you a hard time about your post-grad school plans? Or is it the lady who lives above you and her stupid dog?”
I shake my head. Cooper knows all my things. For some reason that makes me tense up even more.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asks again.
My chest constricts, feeling so torn. If I tell him why I was fighting with Bridget, he’ll say one of two things. Neither of them good.
He’d say:
