Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(19)

I scrub my hands over my face. “Look, I’m emotionally stunted. I don’t understand how this whole thing works. I want Charlene, and I don’t want to lose her. The possibility is actually my worst fucking nightmare. I didn’t grow up in a home with two parents who cared about me and whose entire existence was based on my success as a human being. You had that. I didn’t. I don’t know how to do this and be successful, and Charlene is just as fucked up as me, so any normalish perspective you can give, without judgement, would be really helpful right about now.”

“I don’t—“

I grab him by the shoulders. “Just tell me what the fuck to do!”

“Go to her house. Go see her. Make her happy, however you do that.”

“Make her happy?”

“Yeah, man, like, however that works for you, make her feel good.”

“You mean sexually, right?”

Alex frowns again. I don’t like that expression on his face. It makes me question things. “If that’s what works, then yes. But considering how long you’ve been together, I’d say it’s probably beyond just where your dick goes.”

“My dick goes in a lot of places.” I figure honesty is important here.

Alex scoffs. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. “Can we think beyond your dick, Darren?”

“Of course. What would you like me to think in terms of?”

“Charlene. Think about her.”

“What about her, specifically?”

Alex stares at me and says nothing for a long time. “Other than your weird-ass sex life, what does she like? How do you show her you care about her and that she’s on your mind? What do you do for her?”

“I buy her things.”

“Such as?”

I consider that for a moment. “Usually clothes or lingerie. Sometimes I take her out for dinner, and there was that time I sent her to the spa with Violet. That was good. She liked that.”

“Aside from clothes and lingerie, is there anything else?”

“I bought her a chair.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s some kind of fucked-up sex chair.”

“There are fucked-up sex chairs?” Randy asks, reminding me this conversation isn’t private. Jesus, I’m offering up an awful lot of personal details to these guys in the name of making sure my relationship with Charlene doesn’t get messed up.

“No. Well, yes, there are fucked-up sex chairs, but I didn’t buy one of those for Charlene. I bought her a chair to read in. And a blanket for when she gets cold.”

“Which I bet is pretty often if she’s only allowed to wander around your place naked, eh?” Randy says.

“She doesn’t need my permission to put on or take off clothes.” I turn back to Alex, because Randy’s commentary is unhelpful. “Should I buy her something else along those lines—maybe a footstool, or a pillow, or a side table for her tea? That could be good, right? It’ll show her I’m thinking about her for reasons that don’t pertain to sex.”

Randy shakes his head. “Or you could just buy her some fucking flowers.”

“Chocolate is always nice, or candy,” Alex adds. “Unless she’s feeling bad about her body; then chocolate is a bad idea.”

“Charlene never feels bad about her body.”

“Not that she’s mentioned to you,” Alex grumbles and slams his locker closed. “What’s her favorite color?”

“I like her in purple.”

“No, dickweed, not your favorite color on her, her favorite color. What color does she like the most?”

When she’s the one picking the lingerie for the evening, she tends to go for dark and dangerous, even though she’s anything but. “Black or silver, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, Westinghouse, if there was a boyfriend test, you’d be failing like a motherfucker,” Randy laughs.

“Why?”

“Because you and Charlene have been together for two years, and you don’t even know what her favorite color is. Think about the clothes she wears when you’re with her—the color of her purse, her favorite mug, her goddamn fucking shoes,” Alex snaps.

“Oh. Yellow?”

“Why are you asking me? Is it or isn’t it yellow?” Alex asks.

“I think it’s yellow. Or maybe it’s peach. I could ask her.” I pull up her contact on my phone, but Alex smacks my hand.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t ask her.” Alex angrily thumb-types a message on his own phone.

“Are you asking Charlene?”

He gives me a look. “No, I’m asking my wife because she’s your girlfriend’s best friend, and girls know this kind of stuff about each other.”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense. What’s Violet’s favorite color?”

“Red, most of the time.” His phone buzzes. “Yellow is the correct answer for Charlene, so what you need to do is buy her some yellow flowers.” He thumb-types another question as he speaks, and Violet answers right away. “She also likes mint and chocolate-covered candied ginger, so I’d get her some of that, too. Then go over to your girlfriend’s house and make sure she’s okay. All of your friends saw her naked yesterday, surrounded by a bunch of whacked-out sex toys. She might need some emotional support that extends beyond last night.”