As Aven spreads cream cheese on his bagel, I laugh. “Don’t worry, man, there’s plenty of time for you to fulfill high school prophecies. But for now, I need help figuring out how to grovel. And this has to stay in the circle of trust because I’m usually the one dispensing advice. I can’t have my teammates thinking I need help in the love department.
I can tell Aven’s about to say something, but instead, he shoves a bite of bagel into his mouth. That’s a high-quality best friend right there. He knows I’m full of bullshit, but he lets me carry on like I’m over here spitting out pure facts.
“How bad is it on a scale of one to ten?” he asks.
“Maybe a six and a half. Or a forty-three,” I answer.
My friend peers at me over his glasses. He’s a handsome fucker, I’ve got to give him that. He’s jacked as hell with jet black hair and eyes that are almost as dark. He’s got a standing appointment with a barber every four weeks to keep his hair short and tight on the sides and artfully messy on top. The man could make it in Hollywood, and I keep telling him so. He’s got a MyFans following that puts mine to shame, but I tell myself it’s because he’s not affiliated with any school sports, so he can fully put himself out there. And I do mean out there. His face and his dick get a whole lot of views.
“So, what did you do? I feel like we should start there.”
“I’m a slob,” I admit. “In my defense, I told her that. And I really did try to do better. I even hung my towel on a hook after I showered instead of leaving it on the floor.”
“So proud of you,” he says before taking another bite of his food.
I know he’s joking, but I actually was proud of myself. “Right? Baby steps. But..I should probably mention that the towel-hanging was a one-time thing. I did it on a Tuesday morning and only on that Tuesday morning. Other than that one foray into adulthood, I’ve pretty much lived like the messy manchild I am. And I’m an asshole because when we stepped out of the shower this morning, there were no clean towels. Or even dry ones. I didn’t see the problem. I can air dry when necessary. Apparently that’s not so easy for girls? Or maybe it’s just my wife? Anyway, what I do know is that I did the wrong damn thing.”
Aven’s already shaking his head. “Hit me,” he says.
“I told her she looked good naked and then I kissed her on the forehead, threw on some questionably clean clothes, and left.”
Aven shrugs. “I’m not giving you an A or anything, but you’re still passing the marriage class.”
“There’s more,” I say, grimacing as I show him my phone.
Ollie: How’s your day?
Fallon: Good. I aced my Bio quiz.
Ollie: Nice. Are you home for lunch?
Fallon: Yep. Are you stopping by to feed me? (wink wink)
Ollie: Sadly, no. But can you do a load of wash? We’re out of towels.
Aven winces and slides my phone back. “That was a fucking dumb thing to say.”
I roll my eyes. “I know that. What I don’t know is how to fix it. She won’t text me back now. I’ve messaged her six times and all I got was this,” I say, turning the phone toward him.
On the screen is a picture of a hand-made card with the caption:
I’m so sorry your arms are broken. Get well soon!
My best friend laughs. “I like her. And she’s a hell of an artist.”
“Facts,” I say, agreeing. “But what’s my move?”
“I already told you what to say,” he tells me, gathering up his trash. “Be honest with her. Tell her that you said a dumb fucking thing. Apologize. Stop saying dumb shit. And then have sex with her.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I lean back in my chair and think about Aven’s wisdom. “We should have a podcast.” He starts shaking his head immediately, but I’m not done. “No, hear me out. We’re charismatic and funny as fuck. And we’re both geniuses. The world needs our help.”
My buddy laughs as he stands and collects his things. “Hell, no. There are too many men with microphones in this world.”
“Is that a bouquet of dildos?”Fallon asks, her head swiveling between me and the giant assortment of sex toys bundled together and tied in a shiny red bow and lying in the center of our bed.
“Yes,” I reply, because I can’t very well lie. The woman has eyes, dammit. “I was going to make you a bunch of paper flowers, but I didn’t have enough time. Plus, I have a very specific message to send and I didn’t think paper pansies could properly convey it.”
“But rubber dicks can?”
