“Hmm.” She playfully studies me. “Well, you do like to stalk me in the park, you have no problem talking about your crotch or shoving it in my face, and you enjoy holding my hand.” She taps her chin. “I’d say you’re not just crushing, but you’re crushing hard.”
I chuckle and move my hand to her cheek, passing my thumb over her soft skin. “Yeah, crushing hard would be accurate.”
“Is that so?” Her beautiful lips turn up into a grin. “So does that mean we’re going to have another date this week?”
“I was thinking Wednesday. Are you free?”
“I could be. What do you have in mind?”
“Maybe something simple, something that won’t put me in a position of total embarrassment.”
She chuckles. “Positions of embarrassment make you real.”
Well then, I’ve been the epitome of reality since I met June.
“How about a simple dinner? Nothing fancy, just a chance to talk?” I ask her.
“I’d love that.”
“Shall I call you and let you know when and where?”
She nods. “That would be perfect.”
* * *
“Hey, you’ve reached June Lacy. Sorry I missed you, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’d be more than happy to return your call when I get home. Have a great day.”
I smile to myself as her answering machine beeps. So old school, I kind of love it—sometimes.
“Hey June, it’s Wes. Just calling to let you know I have reservations at Mountain Bird on Second Avenue for seven. It’s an intimate place, perfect for a simple night out. I’ll see you there.”
* * *
“I’ll put your order in and be back to check on you,” the waitress says, taking our menus and leaving us to ourselves.
Thanks to a connection at HYPE, I scored a table in the back corner, which is secluded but lit up by a brilliantly an old-school chandelier, casting the warmest glow over both of us.
June came to dinner in a velvet navy-blue dress that is skintight to her torso and flares at her hips, hitting just above her knees. She’s showing more cleavage than normal, and her arms are bare, giving me a new introduction to her shoulders and petite frame.
“Is it that we’re on an intimate date that you’re smiling like that, or did something happen today?” I ask her.
She smooths her lips together, holding back her smile but then leans forward, and I have to urge myself not to look down her cleavage, to be a gentleman.
But it’s really fucking hard, especially since this is the most revealing article of clothing I’ve seen her in, and she looks damn good.
“I got a part on the chorus line for The Music Man,” she whispers, so much joy exuding from her.
“Wait . . . are you serious?” I ask, my heart stuttering in my chest. “You were cast?”
She nods. “Yup, my agent called me this morning.”
“June. Holy shit.” I stand from the table and come to her side. I pull her up off her seat and wrap my arms around her. “That’s incredible. Congratulations.”
Her arms fall around my waist and her head leans against my chest. It’s our first stomach-to-stomach hug and it’s amazing, perfect actually, like she’s meant to be in my arms this entire time.
And her perfume, Christ, it makes me dizzy. Sweet with a touch of a masculine scent.
When we separate, I hold her by the shoulders and look her in the eyes. “That’s excellent, June. Wow, you must be incredibly proud.”
Her smile is contagious as she nods and takes a seat. “I am. It’s my first time in an actual Broadway production. My experience stems from small off-Broadway shows, which apparently has paid off. Gah, I’m so excited.”
“Wow, that’s really great,” I say, reaching across the table and taking her hand in mine. “When do you start rehearsals?”
“Two weeks. Rehearsals are going to be brutal, but so much fun, and then opening night will be about six weeks after that.”
“So in eight weeks, you’re going to be tapping away on the big stage?”
Her smile grows wider. “Yes, I will.” Shyly she says, “Think you’ll be there?”
“Eight weeks from now?” She nods. “I better be.”
“Would you tell people in the crowd you know me?”
“I hope I’ll be able to tell people in the crowd that you’re my girlfriend.”
“Oh, is that so?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other and leaning in closer. Eyes up, Wesley, eyes up. “Ready to put a title on this thing we have going on?”
“I don’t want to move too fast for you, but I have zero interest in going out with anyone else.”
“You’re just putting that out there?” she asks, her fingers gliding over my palm now. “So confident. You’re making it hard on a girl.”
“That’s the point.” I lift my glass of water to my lips while she eyes me.
“I think I can settle with the whole label thing, but not just yet. Let’s see where the evening takes us.”
“And you think you have it hard?” I shake my head. “June, you have no idea.” She smirks, and it’s a knowing smirk, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s torturing me, and for some reason, I really, truly like it.
“Isn’t courting a lost art?” she asks.
“For a reason,” I suggest. We both laugh and then I say, “You know, you never answered your question from the other day, even though you said you would.”
I can see her thinking back to Monday. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Hmm, okay, ask me.”
She sits taller and folds her arms under her breasts, leaning on the table, making her breasts more visible.
Torture . . . and she knows it.
I lean back in my seat and stroke my hand over my beard. “Did you come here looking fine as hell on purpose, only to torture me with how low-cut that dress is?”
The corner of her lip twitches. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit.” I laugh and so does she.
“I must say, Wes, I’m impressed with your restraint. Your eyes haven’t dropped to my chest once.”
“I’m holding on by a thread here.”
“Let me end your misery. Go ahead, feel free to take a glance.”
I run my tongue over my top teeth, eyes staying on hers. The invitation is there, so do I take it? Or do I hold strong?
The gentlemanly side of me wants to hold strong, show her I don’t need to look at her cleavage to enjoy the night. But then again, that alpha side of being a gentleman—where you show your lady it’s not only about pulling out chairs and saying the right thing, but there’s a naughty side to us as well.
I’d like to take advantage of that naughty side right now.
Slowly, I drag my eyes down her face, past her neck, to her clavicle, and land on her breasts. They swell past the neckline of her low-cut dress, hugging them together, making me believe she’s deliciously naughty too.
When I meet her eyes again, they’re no longer playful, but heated. I know that look. She’s hungry, but not for food, for me, and for the first time since I started seeing June, I feel like I have the upper hand.
Studying her longer, keeping my eyes trained on hers, I ask, “Tell me something about yourself that scares you.”
Her gaze stays focused on mine. She doesn’t fidget. She doesn’t show weakness. “I give my heart away far too fast.”
Surprised, I ask, “Are you afraid you’ll do that with me?”
She slowly nods. “You’re too good, too suave, too on point with every move you make.” Funny she thinks that, because I’ve been a hot-mess tornado, trying to make sense of this dating world since I met her. “You’re intelligent in conversation, you’re open, your honesty is unlike any I’ve experienced with a guy, and you’re incredibly attractive. Almost feels too good to be true. I didn’t think men like you existed.”
“W
e do, you just have to find them right before they step in dog crap in the park.”
She chuckles, her eyes squinting with humor. “If only I knew that sooner.”
“Nah, then you never would’ve met me.”
“True.” She glances at the table and then back at me, a serious expression crossing her face. “Can I ask you something that hopefully won’t insult you?”
“You can try,” I answer, reaching out and grabbing her hand again.
“This may be stupid, but . . . you’re real, right? This isn’t some act you put on. Everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done, it’s genuine.”
“Yes,” I answer right away, even though in the back of my head, my sub-conscious nudges the depths of my brain, asking if I’m being real.
I don’t know any other way to be at this point. Before I became The Modern Gentleman, I was like every other guy fresh out of college, looking for a job, still invested in video games, and didn’t know my ass from my head. It took time, but I’ve morphed into a man of poise, someone who generally knows how to say the right thing at the right time.
But is it an act? Something I automatically do? Or do I actually mean it?
With June, I haven’t had to think about my actions, I’ve just responded. What she sees is what she gets. I guess I’m a combination of the two.
And it seems to be just fine.
“I’m real, June. Why do you ask? Have you been hurt in the past?”
“Maybe.” She glances down at the candlelight between us. “It’s why I take things slow. There’s no need to rush for me. I’d rather get to know a guy, truly know him, before I give my heart over.”
“I can understand that.” Treading carefully, I say, “Can I ask what happened?”
“It’s a tale as old as time,” she says wistfully, looking up at the ceiling now, avoiding all eye contact with me, which leads me to believe one thing—she’s embarrassed. “Met a director at a popular bar a lot of Broadway stars frequent. He made all the promises that I was going to be a star, made me jump through hoops, and in the end . . . found him with another girl, in our bed, jumping hoops with her as well.” She shrugs. “You live and you learn.”
“That’s shitty,” I say, letting the words slip out before I come up with something more refined.
“It was. I thought it was going to be my big break, but instead it was a huge setback. He played with my head, made me question my self-worth, and I took a break for a while when it came to auditions. A year and a half to be exact. It wasn’t until recently I started feeling confident again.”
“And look at what that confidence has gotten you.”
“It’s not a starring role—”
“But it’s a start, and not just a start, but a giant leap into what you want to do. The experience you’ll get is going to be worth so much. We all start somewhere, June.”
She finally looks at me, a smile peeking through those lips. “We do, don’t we?”
At that moment, the waitress brings us our food and sets it down. “Enjoy.”
We both pick up our silverware and glance at each other. In that moment, I feel it—the real June was talking about. The connection, it’s there. And I also realize I’ve missed this. This easy companionship, the person to relax with and talk about your weaknesses and your strengths. She’s right to take things slow, because what better way to get to know someone without the physical aspect diverting your attention from the person themselves. So, we take it slow. There is one thing I know for sure—I don’t plan on letting this girl go.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Modern Gentleman,
Oh man, I don’t think there’s any coming back from this, but I’m hoping you can be a beacon of light. After three weeks of dating, I finally got my first kiss. And it was perfect, I swear fireworks were shooting off in my head. I was so excited that when we parted . . . I did a jig. I know. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I blacked out and before I knew what happened, my elbow clocked my date right in the eye, mid jig. When I finally realized what went down, she was in her apartment with the door shut. Man, what do I do?
The Jig Master
Dear Jig Master,
I’m sorry, but . . . LOL. Gent, where’s your cool? I get it, I get it, you were pining for that kiss, but if I teach anything, it’s not to celebrate a major breakthrough. When you’re home alone, that’s when you celebrate. But we’re too late for that. My suggestion: grab a bag of frozen peas, knock on her door, and beg for her forgiveness. Tell her that her lips captivated you, you’ve never felt anything so perfect, and you morphed into someone you’re not entirely familiar with. Promise the jig won’t happen again, and tell her if she could give you another chance, you’d be grateful. *Still laughing. Sorry, man.*
Good luck, Gent,
The Modern Gentleman
WES
THE FIRST KISS
“Are you coming to basketball tonight?” Roman asks as he enters my office, Caden following closely behind. He tosses me a bag of pretzels and then takes a seat in one of the chairs across from me.
“Have a date with June tonight,” I say.
“Again?” Roman asks, sounding irritated. “That’s the third night this week.”
“So?” I ask, rocking back in my chair. “That’s what dating is. We see each other multiple times in a week.”
The past two weeks have been pretty awesome. After June told me about Doug, the director, we started to grow closer. I’ve learned that she’s an only child, just like me, and she grew up with her grandma in the room next to hers. That’s where she fell in love with Broadway, staying up late and sneaking into to her grandma’s room, then watching musicals and rom-coms together. Love Actually and Pretty Woman were her grandma’s favorites, leading them to be June’s.
Her grandma always said Richard Gere, flowers in hand, leaving his limo and conquering his fears to be near his love, was one of the most romantic gestures she had ever witnessed.
Her parents never knew about June’s late-night movie watching with her grandma, or they never let on about it. Her grandma passed away five years ago, which was a tough pill to swallow, since it meant she’d never see June on the big stage.
On the anniversary of her death, we watched Love Actually and Pretty Woman together. June told me every part her grandma loved, and I sat there and soaked it all in.
Every. Last. Bit.
I also learned that when June said she wanted to take it slow, she meant it. We hold hands and we hug, and that’s about it. But the sexual tension between us has been rising and every time we meet up for a walk, June’s regular clothes seem to get skimpier and skimpier, and so do her dresses.
“You can’t spare a night?” Roman asks, as Caden just sits there, looking between the two of us, eating his own bag of pretzels.
“No. Not just because I don’t want to, but because June starts rehearsals on Monday and I promised her one hell of a home-cooked meal before she goes on a strict diet, starting tomorrow. Sorry, man, find someone else to play with you.”
Huffing, Roman shakes his head and says, “It’s going to be your loss, your jump shot is going to turn to crap.”
“It was never that good anyway,” I counter. I have sub-par basketball skills at best. I play because it’s fun, gets me out of the humdrum gym-life, and I get to spend time with my boys, but that time has been cut in half lately. I only see them at work now, and I sense it’s starting to anger Roman. “Are you missing me?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“No.” He pops a pretzel in his mouth from his own bag. “Just annoyed about always having to find someone to fill your spot. Eugene from advertising keeps offering up his skills and I’m telling you right now, the guy wears short shorts and it’s not a good look. His penis popped out of them last week while doing a layup, almost smacked a guy across the face with his dick. No one wants that, Wes. No one.”
I look at Caden to confirm the details of that story, because Roman loves to exaggerate every cha
nce he gets. He should have been the writer. Caden shifts in his chair and says, “I want to tell you it’s not true, but unfortunately, it is. It was nasty, man.”
“Then tell him to wear longer shorts,” I say, trying not to envision Eugene and his mustache taking the court, whacking unsuspecting men in the face with a layup penis to the face. Doesn’t sit well with me.
“Why should I have to be his dad?” Roman asks. “It’s common curtesy to wear long shorts and underwear during a pickup game of basketball.”
“That, and if you’re hairy, shirt is always on,” Caden adds. “No one wants to touch another man’s shoulder hair.”
“Men shouldn’t have shoulder hair in general,” I say. “Do they not read my grooming articles? I’ve written at least ten now.”
“Surprisingly, not everyone in the world knows who The Modern Gentleman is,” Roman says sarcastically. “I know that’s hard for you to understand, but it’s true.”
“Hmm, I’ll have to chew on that.” I pick up my water and take a sip. “But if you’re truly missing me, I’ll meet up Sunday morning for some basketball. June and I are going for a walk, but then she’s getting ready for Monday. I can meet you guys around eleven and then we can go out to lunch, on me.”
Roman thinks it over. “Where we going to lunch?”
“Wherever you want,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.
“Fine, but I’m going to need time to think about what restaurant I want to go to.”
“What about me?” Caden asks. “Don’t I get a say?”
“No,” Roman says quickly. “So, get a kiss from June yet?”
“No,” I sigh. “But I’m hoping tonight is the night.”
“Jesus,” Roman mutters. “I think I have secondhand blue balls just from listening to you, even though I had sex last night.”
“Toe sucker?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She satisfies me.”
“Bro, that shit is weird.”
Roman holds up his finger and says, “I will not sit here and allow you to judge my sex life when yours is nonexistent.”
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