Because I grew up around Danny and Phillip, I discovered the truth about the male language very early in life. What I learned is there are three basic responses that most guys will use when shouldered with the major task of having to answer the question, How do I look? by the fairer sex.
Although I have never confirmed it, I am convinced that boys are taken aside in school—probably in fifth grade when the girls watch the film about getting their periods—and are taught the following three responses:
You look like crap.
Translation: You look bad. Just go back to bed and start over tomorrow. I really shouldn’t be seen with you like this.
You look fine.
Translation: You look good enough to be seen with.
You look hot.
Translation: I want you.
They also must teach them there is only one acceptable variation to these responses and to use it sparingly. The variation is simple. They just throw a “really” into the sentence.
The following are examples I have witnessed:
JJ, you REALLY look like crap.
Translation: You must be very hungover or sick or having an extremely bad hair day. I really don’t want to be seen with you.
REALLY, JJ, your hair looks fine.
Translation: Your hair looks the same to me as it always does even though you spent an hour fixing it, so stop messing with it, and let’s go because you look good enough to be seen with.
And …
(Insert cheerleader’s name here) looks REALLY hot.
Translation: I REALLY want her.
So, when Danny shows up at my door and says five simple words—you might think, with my insider knowledge, I would have expected them—I’m truly surprised!
“Jay, you look really hot!” he exclaims, looking me over from perfectly done hair to perfectly painted toes.
Now, normally, I would be excited by this compliment because it’s not something I typically hear.
But what I’m thinking is, My God, I have spent, like …
Four hundred dollars and months of shopping, which is still not a pastime I find enjoyable, on a fabulous halter dress in a beautiful, stretchy coral fabric with coral and silver beading. This dress actually makes me look like I have hips.
Sixty dollars on a special bra, so I’d show no straps.
One hundred twenty dollars on a pair of strappy, high-heeled silver sandals with rhinestones.
And, yay, even in five-inch heels, Danny’s still taller than me, unlike my previous date, Mr. Unfaithful.
Seventy-eight dollars on a silver clutch, which is only big enough to hold some lip gloss and a cell phone.
Sixty dollars on a silver gossamer wrap in case it gets chilly.
Okay, so I have absolutely no idea what gossamer is either. But Lisa said that’s what it’s called, and she should know. All I know is that it’s a very sheer fabric that has no chance in hell of ever keeping me warm.
Two hundred forty dollars, plus tips, to get my nails, toes, hair, and makeup done.
And all Danny can say is, “Jay, you look really hot”?
You’d think that maybe he could have come up with something a little more original, like, Wow, that color looks amazing on you. Or, Your face looks flawless—which, incredibly, it does—or, I love how your toenails are the exact shade of coral as your dress, and my, aren’t they painted perfectly?
But, no, I am hot.
Still, coming from Danny, it does make me feel good. For two reasons really.
One, it is the second time—in a week, no less—that he has used my name and “hot” in the same sentence. Except for something like, Jay, it’s really smokin’ hot out here; why don’t you go grab us some drinks?
And, two, I think it’s the only time I’ve ever heard him say those words in reference to someone other than a supermodel, cheerleader, or playmate.
The boy really does need to broaden his horizons a bit.
Did I mention how handsome Danny looks? He’s wearing a black tuxedo with a cool silver-and-black-patterned vest and tie. I love the way his shoulders look so broad when he wears a suit.
Danny grabs my hand and kisses me. “So, are ya ready?”
Um, I have been, like, getting ready for the last six hours.
Hello?
Can’t you tell?
But I don’t say that because I know he’s wondering if I’m ready to face everyone at the dance.
“Okay with all of this?” he asks again.
“Yeah, and by the way, I’m glad you’re forcing me to go.” I grin.
“Ah,” he says, holding his hand to his chest like I have just stabbed him. He flashes an infectious smile and winks at me. “We’ve gotta run over to my house. Mom wants to take some pics.”
Just as we finish pictures, Phillip is at the door.
Phillip—my articulate, sensitive, linguistic, emotional man—what do you have to say about how I look tonight?
“Wow,” he says, “you look …”
Okay, here we go. He’s searching his brain for the perfect word. Come on, I know you can do it! How about the perfect shoes?
“Hot. Really hot.”
Oh, for God’s sake, what is it with boys?
Phillip leaves to go pick up his date, and Danny and I head to dinner.
A lot of our friends are going out to dinner in big groups, but because Jake wanted to be alone with me, Danny and I are going out alone. Of course, Jake, Mr. I Can’t Plan Ahead, wouldn’t make any plans for prom, so I arranged everything.
And guess what. Rumor has it that he was cheating on me, like, the whole time! And, apparently—get this—he’s honest with the other girls. He tells them he has a girlfriend. And they’re okay with that!
So, he’s been doing it with pretty much everyone but me. So, here’s my question. Why was he bugging me about it so much? I mean, supposedly he had a whole legion of skanks to choose from. Why not let me—his sweet little girlfriend, whom he professed to love more than life itself—stay safely ensconced in my imaginary virginal bubble world? Why keep pressuring me?
Why?
God.
I really should’ve skipped trying to make him jealous and gone for option one: walked straight up to him and punched him in the face. Hard! And I’m not talking a little slap across the face like what girls in movies who get mad and slap their lying, conniving, cheating boyfriend and yell, You bastard! give.
I’m talking, BOOM.
As in he’s leaving with a bleeding nose.
That’s what I’m talking about.
Sorry, I digress. I might still be slightly bitter.
However, it does make me feel better, knowing that I’m going to prom with one of the nicest and hottest guys around. Danny will be, hands down, the best-looking guy at the dance. Although, I have to admit, Phillip will be a close second. I swear, he just keeps getting cuter.
It’s probably for the best that Danny and I are going to dinner alone.
I’m not sure I could handle all the questions.
Like, How are you doing? Are you and Danny serious? Is it true that Jake has been dating that girl for, like, four months?
I’d have to answer, Um, I don’t know, and, Uh, I don’t know, and, Well, I don’t know.
I’m a fountain of non-information.
Danny and I have a great time at dinner.
He teases me.
I feign irritation and tease him back.
He kisses me, and I melt.
He feeds me dessert.
I’ve decided I’m very glad we’re alone. I’ve been able to forget about my life for a while, and it’s been perfect. I mean, when you’re around Danny, it’s really hard to think about anything but him. He’s got this easy, seductive way about him. Like he’s a warm, inviting swimming pool, and you can’t wait to jump him.
In. I meant, jump in. You know, jump in the pool. The, uh, warm pool.
Crap. I’ve become one of those girls. Those girls who hang on his every word and think he can do no wrong and wouldn’t care if he did.
Those are the girls I make fun of.
I do a great impersonation of a swooning, mute, hair-flipping, eyelash-batting, stomach-holding-in, and boob-sticking-out girl. Phillip thinks I’m hilarious when I do this.
And, somehow, I’ve become one. Well, not completely. Coherent words are still coming from my mouth, and I’m not flipping my hair.
Okay, so I can’t flip it since it’s up in pins.
My point is, I haven’t been totally hypnotized by his charm.
I’m holding my own.
My dad used to call Danny a chick magnet. Eighties slang for what would probably now be referred to as a player. Anyway, I’ve thought it’s a good way to describe him. But I’ve always been like his opposing magnet. We tend to butt heads.
Tonight, I think I’ve become like, you know, a wimpy paper clip or something. I can’t help but be drawn to him, and I’m totally incapable of resisting his pull.
We finish dinner too early to go to the dance, so we retreat to the limo, and Danny tells the driver to just cruise around. We really aren’t paying attention to where he is going because we are sitting in the back, drinking champagne, and seriously making out.
You know, I never wanted to be cliché and do it on prom night, but let’s just say that the issue is currently under advisement.
What it really means is that I haven’t made up my mind yet. I have determined though that, if I wanted to, Danny could be the perfect guy for it. I mean, I love the guy. And why not do it with a friend? Someone you trust and are comfortable with.
Not some stupid, slut-loving boyfriend.
And didn’t Phillip tell me I should think about doing it with a friend?
So, why wouldn’t I?
Well, ’cause maybe you’re afraid of ruining your relationship?
See? I really can’t decide.
We go to prom, and I have fun dancing with Danny. I especially enjoy how he holds me when we slow dance and how he keeps playing with the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of the back of my updo.
Memo to self: updos and passionate limo kissing are not a good mix. Especially when your date is enthralled with your hair and can’t seem to leave it alone!
And I am totally not complaining about that even though it is rather hypnotic.
I manage to get in a slow dance with Phillip while his date is throwing up in the restroom.
Too much champagne for her. Silly girl.
Speaking of champagne, Danny and I drank a whole bottle, but I feel fine. Although, come to think of it, Danny had most of it, and occasionally, he’s been taking nips from a flask of vodka hidden in his tux pocket.
Hey, where’s mine?
Why aren’t we sharing?
Come on! Get me drunk and take advantage of me.
Please!
He seems sober enough but sorta nervous. That’s so not like him. Why in the world would he be nervous with me?
I might be a bit confused but certainly not nervous. It’s just Danny, for goodness’ sake.
Billy Prescott and Katie are named prom king and queen, and at a little after eleven, Danny and I leave, get dropped off at the hotel, and go to our room. A bunch of us went together and booked the whole floor of the hotel. We got the whole hotel thing past our parents by swearing we were all just going to crash in the rooms, and that way, they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone drinking and driving. At least, that was my explanation.
God, I miss them so much.
Anyway, there’s kind of an awkward moment when we first get to the room. I know we’re just supposed to crash here, but you can’t exactly ignore the big bed in the center of the room and what it implies. I mean, there might as well be a neon arrow pointing down to it with the words, HAVE SEX HERE, flashing at us.
Okay, now, I am nervous. I seriously need a drink. Thank goodness Danny brought more champagne to the room.
As he opens the bottle, I sit on the bed. He seems much calmer now, back to his confident self, as he pours champagne into little plastic cups.
“Cheers,” he says. In one long drink, he drains his cup and then sets it on the nightstand.
I barely get to take a sip before Danny grabs my cup. I’m about to protest, but he looks at me, runs a finger across my cheek, and sweetly kisses me.
The kisses don’t stay sweet though.
We’re really kissing.
And, when he starts kissing down my neck, my sensible mind goes completely fuzzy. Especially now that he’s running his hands through my hair and tossing the bobby pins he finds onto the floor.
Ahh!
It’s like he’s undressing my hair!
Pretty soon, his kisses get, well, urgent, and his hands, well, they have been everywhere but in my hair.
Oh, I like this.
But … decision time.
I start to panic, so I stop the kissing, grab my cup, and take another drink.
A big one.
Relax, JJ.
Danny pours himself another cupful of champagne, which is good. It gives me a second to think without his kisses clouding my judgment. But I only get a second because he slams his champagne, sets his cup down, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. And I just sit there and watch.
Yes, I have seen Danny shirtless many times, but I am still dazzled.
Because he is not just whipping off his shirt ’cause he’s hot; he is taking his shirt off for me.
He’s getting naked for me.
And, well, when his shirt hits the floor, I’m pretty sure my judgment walks right out the door.
We kiss and do stuff some more.
It all feels so good, and evidently, my body decides to take control.
I hear a husky voice, which I’m shocked to realize is my own, suggest, “Why don’t I change into something more comfortable?”
Where did that come from?
You always hear that in movies, and just once, I’d like to see somebody come out in baggy old sweats and a T-shirt. But, no, it is always beautiful lingerie.
Which I happen to have in my bag.
What? I was just trying to be, you know, prepared for every possibility.
Plus, if I am going to do this, then I’m going to do it right. Not be half-undressed in a twisted-up prom gown.
So, I go in the bathroom, brush out my hair, run my toothbrush across my teeth, and slide into the silky lingerie.
I hurry.
I swear, I am in there for only, like, three minutes.
And I’ve been imagining what the scene will look like when I go back out to Danny. I picture him lying on his side, diagonally across the bed, his arm propping up his head. His muscles ripple, and his eyes have that come-hither look.
You know, the sexy way all those soap guys pose while waiting for their lovers to slip into something more comfortable.
I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door.
I can’t believe I’m finally going to do this.
And with Danny!
Gorgeous, wonderful, incredible, hot, sexy, addictive Danny.
I saunter out, making my grand entrance, expecting to see Danny looking at me in awe, his eyes full of lust, passion, and love.
I gaze out and see Danny lying across the bed, his back toward me, wearing nothing but a pair of sexy, silky boxers. His tuxedo is piled on the floor at the end of the bed, and there’s a condom lying on the nightstand.
I want to scream and clap out loud because I’m pretty sure that means Danny wants me.
Me!
In the bathroom, I worried a little because he hadn’t said, you know, Let’s do this. I just sorta assumed he wanted to based on the things he was doing to me, and I was thinking how embarrassing it would be if I came out here, all lingeried up, and he, like, turned me down.
So, I feel happy!
God, even that boy’s back is sexy!
I coo, “Danny.”
I’m practically vibrating with excitement as I wait for him to roll over to see how amazing I look, to pull me into bed with him, and to finish what we started.
But he doesn’t move.
Okay, so maybe he has a different version of this in his mind. I’m willing to play along!
So, I hop over his tuxedo and saunter sexily around the bed.
Here I come!
No way.
You have got to be kidding me.
I don’t see eyes full of lust, passion, and love. Instead, I see that Danny has thrown up in the trash can and is passed out on the bed.
Seriously?
But I’m not about to give up yet.
“Danny!” I say as I plop down on the bed and give his shoulder a push.
But he doesn’t wake up. His mouth falls open, and he starts to snore loudly.
Great.
Just freaking great!
I stomp back into the bathroom, take off the damn lingerie, and angrily shove it back into my bag.
That’s it!
Victoria’s Secret and I are through!
I’m definitely going to start wearing ratty, old-lady underwear because, every time I wear the good stuff, I can’t even pay to get it seen!
While contemplating my lack of sexual prowess and my slim hopes of ever having any, I put on my swimsuit, a pair of khaki cargos, and a little black tank top.
The post-prom party is in Billy Prescott’s suite. His room’s got a hot tub. We’re supposed to show up any time after midnight.
And I figure, if I can’t manage to lose my virginity, then I am damn well going to get drunk.
While I did bring clothes to wear to the party, honestly, I was hoping that I would be too wrapped up in Danny—and I mean that both literally and figuratively—to attend.
Now, I have nothing better to do, and it’s only eleven forty-five.
I don’t want to be the first one there!
And dateless, no less.
I hope Jake’s not there. That’s all I need.
No. He’s probably off somewhere, doing it.
As I walk out of my room, I see Phillip walking down the hall, alone.
I whistle and say, “Hey, you looking for a good time?”
“Actually, I am,” he replies very seriously.
I don’t think his night has gone exactly as planned either.
“Where’s your date?” I ask as he walks toward me.
“Well, after she spent most of the night puking in the restroom, I decided to call the game. I took her home. And where’s your hot date?”
“Threw up in the trash can and passed out. Wanna go to the party with me?” I bump his side with my hip.
“I have a better idea. Did you bring a swimsuit?”
“Got it on. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I didn’t tell anyone, but my room has a hot tub, too.”
I look at him in surprise.
He shrugs. “I didn’t want anyone to know because they’d all want to party in it, and it was just supposed to be, you know, for Carrie and me.”
“Well, aren’t you the sneaky little bad boy?”
I mean, he didn’t even tell me!
I feel bad for him.
He really did have big plans for tonight.
“I guess I’m just gonna have to be your date for the rest of the evening, Phillip, seeing as you are my, uh, close friend.”
I smile at the sweetie and grab his hand, and we start walking back to his room.
Phillip and I sit in the hot tub and talk. It’s wonderfully warm and relaxing in here. I lean back and put my head on his broad shoulder.
I must have gotten a little too relaxed because I think I might have dozed off.
Whoops.
“Hey, Princess,” Phillip says, gently waking me, “let’s get out of here and get some sleep.”
“Fine, but I’m sleeping in your room. Mine smells like puke.”
“All right, but it’ll cost you.”
“How much?” I squint my eyes, ready to deal.
“Didn’t I hear you telling Katie about some sexy lingerie?” He gives me a sexy grin.
“Phillip, I have so given up on lingerie. It’s like a bad boyfriend; all it ever does is let me down. You get me in sweats and one of your old T-shirts. You got a problem with that?” I point my finger into his chest.
“No, ma’am.” He smiles and gives me a salute.
We lie in bed, and I put my head on Phillip’s shoulder.
What is it about Phillip’s shoulder that makes me instantly relax and fall asleep?
I’m so lucky I have Phillip.
At about four a.m., Phillip and I are awakened by a knock, knock on our door.
It’s Danny, looking for me.
Phillip points to me as I sit up in bed. I smile and wave at Danny with sleepy eyes.
My sleepy eyes are awake enough to see Danny looks great. He’s thrown on shorts over the boxers, but he still has no shirt on.
Damn.
Why, oh why, did he have to pass out?
“You know, Phillip,” Danny says with a nasty grin, “a lot of girls say that it’s their lifelong fantasy to be with two guys at the same time.”
He turns to me and winks. “What do you say, Jay? This could be your lucky night.”
I’ve known the boy long enough to know when he’s messing with me.
“I’m game,” I say and quickly sit up in bed. “As a matter of fact, it sounds really hot. Why don’t you two”—I wave my finger back and forth between them—“start by making out while I watch?”
Danny and Phillip look at each other in disgust, and I smile to myself.
“Ah … never mind, Jay,” Danny says, stifling a yawn. “How ’bout we just crash? I’m sleeping here, too. Um, our room kinda smells. Good thing you had big plans for tonight, Phillip,” Danny says, suggestively elbowing Phillip and eyeing the bed, “and got the king-size bed. Where is your date anyway?”
“Shut up, Danny,” Phillip replies as he turns off the light.
After that, those boys tell anyone who will listen about how I “slept” with both of them on prom night.
When I wake up the next morning, instead of being snuggled up to my date, I’m lying on Phillip’s shoulder and wrapped up in his arms.
Really, the same place I’ve slept for the last week.
I move over next to Danny before he wakes up.
Even he doesn’t know about that.
