Standing from my stool, I greet her with a smile. “BrowniesYum?”
“Yup, that’s me.”
She smiles, cups my neck, and pulls me in for a brief hug. Damn, she smells good too. Maybe Roman has the right idea, after all. As she pulls away, her hair brushes against me and I catch a whiff of lavender. Nice touch.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
I offer her a seat, and when she’s situated, she takes a sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim. “It’s nice to meet you too.” She looks around. “Where did your friend go?”
“He had plans to meet up with someone.”
“So that means it’s just us?”
And a bar full of hungry singles, but I won’t mention that.
“Just us. I’m Wes, by the way.” I stick out my hand, which she shakes. Her hand is so small and petite . . . and soft. BrowniesYum is not a bad catch at all.
“It’s nice to meet you, Wes. I’m Lois.”
And all the hype behind this woman immediately deflates.
Lois . . .
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope. I quickly pull my hand away from her grasp. This isn’t going to work.
This is why you should never meet people on apps where they have usernames, because you end up in a situation like this. A situation where the girl you’re interested in has the same exact name as your own damn mother.
In no possible way will this work. I can’t speak for the entire male population, but come on. No man in his right mind would want to date a girl with the same name as his mom. It doesn’t matter how hot she is, because when it comes down to it, the last thing you want to be saying while your dick is hard is your mom’s name.
Give it to me, Lois.
Squeeze me, Lois.
Ride me . . . Lois.
Oh fuck, nope.
Not going to happen.
Lois . . . I would rather call her BrowniesYum.
“Are you okay?” She presses her hand on my arm, a concerned look on her face, but instead of seeing BrowniesYum and her gorgeous face, all I can see is my mother. My mother in her large purple glasses and her Winnie the Pooh shirt.
Talk about a mood killer.
Not wanting to act like a dickhead, I clear my throat. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” I straighten up and act like the gentleman I try to portray. “What do you do . . . Lois?”
She runs her hand invitingly up my chest. “I do men like you.”
Yeahhhhh, I can’t do this. Normally I’d have absolutely no problem with a woman running her fingers up my chest, but I can’t stop thinking about that Winnie the Pooh shirt and if I don’t break this off right now, I’m pretty sure my penis will never unbury itself from my scrotum.
The moment I slide off my barstool and step away, her face falls. I feel a twinge of guilt. This isn’t her fault. Given different circumstances I’d be happy to continue the conversation, but ending the night with Lois is not something I want to experience.
Knowing I need to be honest, I square up, like the man I taught myself to be. “Lois, I have to be straight with you. You’re gorgeous, and normally I’d be asking for your number by now, but unfortunately, you have the same name as my mom and it’s just weird for me.”
She scrunches her nose. “Your mom’s name is Lois?”
I nod apologetically. “Yeah, it’s an inconvenient coincidence.”
She quirks her mouth to the side, a pinch in her brow. “And you can’t get over that?”
Is she insane? Of course I can’t get over that. Making out with a woman named Lois surprisingly isn’t on a list of things I’d like to partake in.
I chuckle. “Would you be able to get over it if I had the same name as your dad?”
She smirks at that and reaches out to play with one of the buttons on my shirt. “Wouldn’t faze me since I’d call you daddy anyway.”
Did you see that? That right there, that was her freak flag waving high and proud. Should have known swiping right was a bad idea.
I take a step back. “Lois, it was a pleasure meeting you, but I think I’m going to head out.”
I leave money on the bar, give her a sorry smile, and head toward the bar exit. Sorry, BrowniesYum, it isn’t going to happen for us.
Standing on the curb, I wave down a taxi and pull out my phone. After I give the cab driver my address, I call Roman. He picks up after two rings.
“Please tell me all the swiping paid off and you’re about to land this girl.”
“I left.”
He sighs into the phone. “Dude, what the hell is—”
“Her name was Lois.”
There’s silence on the other line and then Roman says, “Lois, as in your mom’s name?”
“Yeah.” Since traffic isn’t heavy, we cruise uptown through the streets of New York City, lights flashing by, dew glistening off the sidewalks, and the city’s night owls still prowling the streets.
“Man, that’s bad luck, but I still would have done her.”
I shake my head. “You would have had sex with someone who has the same name as your mom?”
“No way in hell, but I’ve always wanted to bang Winnie the Pooh right off your mom’s shirt so I’d have gone for it.”
“Fuck you, man.” I laugh.
Laughing himself, he asks, “Want me to swipe for you again?”
“No. Cockdaddy69 is retired. Looks like I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
The way I prefer—through coincidence, conversation, and confidence.
Chapter Four
Dear Modern Gentleman,
The dating pool is a bitch. A few months ago, I broke up with my girlfriend of three years and now my friends are begging me to get back into the dating circuit. Being three years out has made me rusty and self-conscious—everything has changed. There are rules and apps and protocols, and I can’t keep up with any of it. So I decided to jump in headfirst and join Love Swipe. I met a girl I thought was super chill. We went out for drinks and dancing. Had an awesome time. I asked about a second date and she said yes, except, she wants to have a threesome with her gay best friend. I really like this girl, but I’m not sure about a threesome. What do you think?
Sincerely,
Rusty and Nervous
Dear Rusty and Nervous,
First of all, congratulations on putting yourself back out into the dating world. It’s a scary place to be, but once you find the right woman, it’s going to be worth it. Second of all, your first mistake was looking for someone on Love Swipe. That particular app doesn’t always encourage the most gentlemanly behavior. My advice to you: be a gentleman and politely say you’re not interested. When the time comes to get intimate, I’d let her know that you fuck her and her alone. Modern Gentlemen don’t share their women.
Good luck, Gent,
The Modern Gentleman
WES
THE MEET-CUTE
“Wishing Lois was still in the picture?” Roman asks as he shoots a three-pointer and makes it with ease.
It’s Sunday, and the courts are crowded once again on this warm, sunny morning in Central Park. Pickup games surround us as testosterone floats through the air. And even though Sundays on the court are my favorite part of the week, I can’t help but feel uneasy, slightly frustrated, and a lot like I’m about to throw up.