Kinky Resolutions and Other New Year's Disasters: A Standalone Romantic Comedy

by Frankie Love

  I reply with the hotel information and drop the phone off the table, genuinely terrified about the people coming to our four-way.

  “I guess I better go put on some lingerie. You know, for the foursome we’re about to have.”

  “What do men wear to four-ways?” I ask. If a threesome was out of my comfort zone, how the hell is this gonna work?

  Gracie grimaces. “I don’t know. And honestly... okay, don’t judge me... but maybe I won’t change until they show. In case it’s weird.”

  “No judging, I swear.”

  We finish our drinks, and then another, and then there’s knock on the door.

  “Are you nervous,” I ask.

  “Terrified.” Gracie’s eyes are huge, and she swirls the ice in her cup as I walk to the door.

  Smirking I say, “I hope you know my type.”

  “Ditto.”

  I pull open the door and find a very tall woman with big brown eyes staring straight at me. I mean, she’s as tall as me, shoulders are just as broad, and she’s obviously wearing a wig.

  “Uh, hey,” I say, instantly intimidated.

  And also, fairly certain this is not a woman.

  “Hey, are you CBNYC?” she purrs, er, growls.

  “Uh, yeah. And you are ...” I look over my shoulder at Gracie. She’s smiling encouragingly. “You are here for the ....”

  “Foursome?” The woman’s eyes sparkle. “I’m Kittycat.”

  I push my lips forward, debating my next move when a man walks out of the elevators and stops at our door.

  “Is this where the foursome is happening?” he asks, his voice slightly more nasally than I expected.

  Okay, much more nasally. Also, he is shorter than his profile predicted. As in, 5’2”.

  As in over a foot shorter than me.

  “Uh, Lithe?” I say, suddenly not wanting to use Gracie’s first name. “Uh, can you... come over here?”

  She jumps up from the couch and tells the Tinder matches to come on in. I look at her, questioning her judgment.

  She shoots me a “what the hell is your problem look” and I just shrug because what the fuck do I know. I’m the one who’s supposed to be open minded and maybe this foursome is exactly the kind of kink Gracie is gonna be all hot for.

  “I’m Lithe, that’s Bentley,” she says, introducing me. “And you’re Kittycat... and you are?” she asks the short dude.

  “Rolo. The name is Rolo.” He unbuttons the top of his shirt. And then another, and Kittycat meows unzipping her dress. It’s off in like two seconds.

  Yep. She’s may be a kitten, but she does not have a pussy.

  Gracie’s eyes get wide, but then she is all in. I watch as she lifts off her tank, revealing her tits in a black lacy bra. She looks beautiful, soft creamy skin against the dark lace, her hair over her shoulders, and I want to lean in and kiss her collarbone.

  Of course, I’m not the only one looking at her.

  Kittycat and Rolo are as well.

  And they like what they see.

  Rolo asks me to put on some music, and I nod, practically racing to the stereo, anything to get away from this awkward strip show. I try to pick a station that says, I’m having the weirdest night of my life. I land on a station of 90’s R&B. Boys II Men starts blaring.

  Perfect.

  …I’ll make love to you like you want me to, and I’ll hold you tight, all through the night, I’ll make love to you...

  Kittycat loves this song, and she starts belting it out, her panties clearly holding back a cock, and Rolo is all about it too, he unbuckles his pants, and in his tighty-whities, starts shaking his hips.

  I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m scared to look at Gracie. Because if she is into this scene, I may be over it. Like, the girl had me at fucking hello, but I don’t know about this.

  When I finally man-up and look at her, she’s smiling, but not a sexed-up-take-me-now smile, it’s a genuine smile that says I’m happy. I’m present.

  A smile that says I’m not fucking these strangers.

  I exhale.

  “Sugar, you want to touch my titties?” Kittycat asks. She may have a cock, but she also has a fine rack. Her breasts must have cost a fortune.

  Gracie steps forward and obliges. She presses her hands to Kittycat’s chest and gives the bra cup a squeeze. “Nice. Firm. A real handful,” Gracie says. Not even hinting at sarcasm. She just smiles, watching the scene unfold. “You know, Kitty,” she says, I bet Rolo would like to feel.”

  Kittycat beams then takes Rollo’s hands and presses them both to her breasts. He likes what he feels because in two seconds flat those two are making out. Which would be awkward, except, Kitty is sitting on the couch and Rolo is straddling her.

  Gracie steps away, towards me, toward the music. She turns up the volume.

  I don’t make a move to end the party. To kill the vibe that Kittycat and Rolo have going on.

  But I do reach for Gracie’s hand and hold it in mine, as the Boys II Men harmonize, “I made plans to be with you. Girl, whatever you ask me, you know I can do.”

  12

  The Visiting Team

  June 2017

  My parents are here.

  For a graduation.

  That isn’t happening.

  “What do you mean, Gracie?” My dad shakes his head, pacing my apartment. The apartment he pays for.

  “I told you not to come. The graduation isn’t happening. My professor is crazy and taking it out on me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mom says. “You failed one assignment and you don’t graduate?”

  I groan. “It was the only assignment that mattered. She said my research was spot on … but that it lacked “heart” … how can you grade a paper on its emotion?”

  I’m a mess over it.

  An embarrassed, mortified mess.

  She straight up flunked me because I failed to add personal analysis to the research.

  “And your advisor, she says you can resubmit the paper and then she’ll pass you?”

  “Yes, but she also told me three months ago to add research. Which is what I did.”

  “So what is the problem?” Dad asks. “Fix the paper. Failing isn’t an option.”

  .I throw my arms in the air. “It’s not that easy! I can’t write it. I don’t know what she even expects from me.”

  It’s not true though. I know what she wants. She wants me to add commentary to my research … but the only commentary I have to give is personal.

  Too personal.

  Kinky List personal.

  “But you’ve never failed at anything, Gracie,” my dad days. “I don’t understand.”

  Just then there’s knock at my door.

  Grateful for a distraction, I walk away from a conversation that will soon implode.

  “Hey, Gracie,” Cooper says, smiling. He has been crisscrossing the country lighting up the scorecard.

  I may not have seen him in a long time, but it doesn’t feel that way. I’ve been watching every game on TV. The Yankees are in first place and Cooper is an early-season MVP candidate.

  We’ve texted a few times while I was in Connecticut. And thankfully the tension between us dissipated after our night with Rolo and Kittycat.

  Still, I haven’t seen him in a month, and when he wraps me in a tight hug, I sink into him.

  I haven’t kissed him since ... Valentine’s Day.

  When we started our Kinky List, I thought our lips would be locking a lot more often.

  “Gracie, who is there?” my mom calls, walking toward the door.

  “It’s my neighbor, Cooper.”

  “The Cooper Bentley?” my dad asks.

  “The one and only,” I grimace.

  Cooper, being a normal everyday guy from middle America, walks right into my war zone and shakes my parents’ hands, smiling warmly.

  “Gracie said you were her neighbor,” my mom gushes, unabashedly scanning Cooper from head to toe. Like mother, like daughter.
“But I didn't realize you were friends.”

  “She didn’t?” Cooper frowns. “Your daughter is my saving Gracie.”

  I furrow my brows, having never heard him say that about me, or even understand what he is referencing. But my parents seem to like the line because they smile, no longer scowling at me for being a dropout.

  When Cooper sits in the living room, answering all my dad’s questions, I make a beeline for the kitchen to grab drinks. White wine for mom and me, beers for the men. I set them on a tray, add spiced almonds to a dish, and throw some grapes in a bowl.

  Then I remember to breathe.

  “Wait, what?” Cooper looks up at me as I walk back into the living room. “You aren’t graduating?”

  I shake my head, setting the tray on the coffee table. “Apparently my research paper sucked. I messed up.”

  “Gracie,” Cooper says, concerned. “You never mentioned any of that to me.”

  “Join the club,” Mom says, her irritation from earlier is back.

  I pass out drinks, and avoid the gazes, wondering why we aren’t discussing the Yankees amazing season. Isn’t that more interesting than my degree?

  “Gracie, I don’t understand, you don’t want to rewrite it?” Coop asks. “You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”

  I shrug. My face hot. What does he want me to say? In this moment the last thing I want to do is rewrite that damn paper. Seeing him, here, in my apartment, there is only one thing in the world I want to focus on.

  All I want right now is to forget about school and focus on Cooper’s cock. That would be a hell of a lot less stressful than this conversation, that’s for sure.

  Of course, I can’t say that to my parents. Or to Cooper.

  It would make me sound like a crazy lady who is obsessed with the hottie next door. The hottie half of the women in America are obsessed with.

  But after having a taste of Cooper, and then going cold turkey for three months my vagina is screaming so loudly I can hardly hear my own voice.

  My parents exchange a look with Cooper as if the three of them have been in cahoots for years.

  “Gracie, can I talk to you for a sec?” Cooper asks, setting down his beer.

  “Uh. Sure.” I stand and follow him out of the apartment, through the hall, and into his apartment.

  I haven’t been here since he locked me to his headboard and licked me up and down.

  I blink.

  “Gracie, what aren’t you saying?”

  “Uh,” I start, then shake my head. I already feel like a freaking disaster. A failure.

  “Look, you don’t owe me anything, Gracie. But I can’t watch you make a mess of things without saying something.”

  “A mess of things? It’s just graduation. I’ll figure out the paper eventually. Just not today.”

  Cooper narrows his eyes. “And the drinking. And all the guys.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Guys?”

  “Yeah, like Stephen and Drake, and who knows who else.”

  I pull back, totally annoyed. “There is no one else. Stephen and Drake are a couple and I’m not dating anyone. Okay, does that make you happy?”

  “Happy? I mean....” Cooper shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his lips.

  “Oh my god, you are happy. What? You like the fact no one else wants to be with me?” I roll my eyes. “Cooper, that sucks. I deserve to be happy too, to have fun too.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I throw my arms up, hating that Cooper brings out the best and worst in me. All of me. I hate that I want him to know why this year has sucked – because of him.

  Because of not having him, not fully.

  “It means you’re gallivanting across the country, doing God knows what with who knows what and I’m not.” I cover my face with my hands, hating that I’ve just admitted so much. Too much.

  Tears fall down my cheeks, and I wipe them away. Not wanting to fall apart in from of Cooper Bentley.

  “Shh, Gracie,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “Don’t cry.” His arms wrap around me as if knowing what it means to hold me and I want to stay here, tucked in a safe place. “You’re going to be okay, girl.”

  I try and stifle a sob, a sob I’d held back from my parents and Bridget. But it’s no use. My tears flow freely and my face presses against Cooper’s chest.

  “I can’t believe I’m not graduating.”

  “It’s okay. It’s one loss, you have a lot of game left in you, Gracie.”

  “I don’t know if my life is the same as a baseball season. I’ve never failed like this.”

  “Sure it is,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Everything makes more sense with baseball. I promise.”

  “How so?”

  He looks down at me. “You know how I have a .300 batting average?”

  “Yeah?” I don’t follow.

  “I still miss seven out of ten times.”

  “Which means?”

  He kisses my forehead. “Which means failing doesn’t mean anything when you’re willing to walk back out to home plate and take another swing.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist. He smells so good, even though he’s been traveling all day. He smells like worn leather gloves and green grass and fresh air.

  “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” His heart is beating fast, and I don’t think he’d have said this if we were looking deeply into one another’s eyes.

  “No,” I say immediately.

  He pulls back, cupping my face with his warm hands. “Gracie,” he smiles playfully, and relief washes over me. Maybe he doesn’t realize how true his question is.

  “Our list is taking a long time to complete,” he tells me.

  “Too long?”

  He shakes his head. “No, but I’ve got bad news.”

  My brows knit together. “What?”

  “I thought maybe we could check another item off the list tonight... I’m home, you’re home, I thought we could celebrate graduation.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  He shakes his head again. “Nope. Not until the paper is done.”

  I pout, reflexively. I want to check off another Kinky item, and I want to do it now. What better way to forget about my failure than to get filthy dirty with Cooper?

  “The paper could take two or three months to rewrite.”

  “So, what do you have planned this summer, Martha’s Vineyard? The Cape-whatever?”

  I twist my lips, and Cooper smooths back my hair, still holding me close. The truth is, I was going to spend the summer at Martha’s Vineyard. Boating. Sun Bathing. Reading. Swimming. Bliss.

  “You're saying you won’t do another kinky thing with me until I turn this paper in? I have an extension until December.”

  “Your call. Take the summer off and work on the paper this fall. Or....”

  “Or buck up and do it this summer so you and I can do numbers five, six, and seven,” I finish.

  “Yep. Your call.”

  “Okay,” I tell him as he uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. “Okay, I’ll go into a writing cave and do this. I’ll take another swing.”

  “Wow,” Cooper says, smiling. “You must really miss my cock.”

  I laugh, wondering how he is making such a shitty situation feel bearable.

  “I do miss your cock, Cooper. But right now,” I admit. “I was missing your lips more.”

  “Then let me leave you with this.”

  He presses his lips to mine, softly at first, then our mouths part, and he holds me at the base of my neck letting the kiss deepen. Our longing solidified.

  He kisses me and I remember and I forget. He kisses me and I kiss him back.

  When he pulls away, he does so slowly, blowing hot air in my ear, and whispering, “Next time, I won’t just kiss you.”

  I leave, determined to come back.

  13

  Seventh Inning Stretch

  August 2017

  It’s the top of the ninth. The s
eason has been fucking amazing, but this game is uncomfortably close. Ahead 5-4, two outs and a full count, but the bases are loaded.

  I’m behind Homeplate, glove up, Gabe ready to pitch. We’re playing the Cardinals, and fucking Ponderosa is up to bat. This asshole has fucked with my every last nerve all week as we’ve been going head to head.

  Usually it’s the catcher who talks shit -- but not with this asshole. Keeping my mouth shut drives him up the wall.

  “You’re a fucking ape, you know that?” Ponderosa raises his bat, getting into position. “I’ve got this in the fucking bag.”

  My jaw tenses behind my catcher’s mask. I fucking love getting under this guy’s skin..

  It’s why he calls me a gorilla. He thinks my lack of response is because I’m an idiot from the Midwest.

  I discreetly flick my wrist three times, adjust my mask. Gabe knows what to do.

  He winds up, throws the ball, and it’s like watching magic happen.

  Ponderosa swings. Misses.

  The asshole is always a sucker for a slider.

  Everyone is fucking going nuts. I throw off my mask, growling like the fucking ape I am. Another win.

  Hell, fucking yeah.

  A reporter approaches me in the clubhouse.

  “Cooper Bentley, another great day, 3 for 3 and the game-winning RBI in the 8th inning. Do you think you should win the MVP?”

  I shake my head. “The only thing I know right now is that my teammates continue to do one hell of a job. This was a great team victory.”

  The reporter smiles and shakes their head. “Cooper Bentley, ladies and gentlemen, never one to make it about himself. Thanks, Coop, great game tonight.”

  As I look to congratulate my teammates milling around, Gabe grabs my shoulder.

  “Hey, fucker,” he says. “You’ve got some fans.” He points to the front row, and there is Gracie. Her hair pulled back so I see her sparkling eyes, and I can’t help but run towards her.

  It’s been a month since I’ve seen her face. Damn, I miss it. She hasn’t been at her apartment. She ended up going to Martha’s Vineyard after all, but she said she was relegating herself to the guesthouse. Apparently, her family is so fucking rich they have a guesthouse at their beach house.