#silly little sexy anecdotes under the cut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years ago

Text

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Five

A/N: I hope that everyone reading this has an okay holiday season. If your parents aren't accepting, know that I accept you and your identity, and I wish you the best for the new year. <3

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Damien and Roman went their separate ways to get cleaned up. Roman went through hallway after hallway just under the speed of a run so he could avoid his mother coming after him. When he got to his room, he quickly picked out a plain white and grey pantsuit and took it with him two doors down to the shower.

He undid the braid in his hair and stripped to get in the shower, determinedly not looking in the mirror to try and avoid dysphoria as much as possible. He washed the paint off as quickly as he could, which wasn’t very quick. He dried himself off and was relieved when he could put clothes on, even if they were clothes that were made to accentuate his curves and his butt. Why did pantsuits have to go out of their way to make people look sexy? Not that he didn’t mind looking sexy, but he’d rather look masculine sexy than feminine sexy.

He walked out of the bathroom to find his mother waiting for him and he sighed. “What now, Mother?” he asked. “I’m putting my clothes away to be washed, I admitted I was wrong for participating in a paint fight, what more do you want from me?”

“You must behave ladylike, Veronica,” his mother hissed. “You are not a man, you must act like it!”

“Anyone can enjoy art, Mother,” Roman said. “Anyone can get caught up in emotions. What, are you worried Damien will find out about my being transgender and call off the wedding? Are you worried your perfect little plan is about to be foiled?”

“You are not a ‘transgender’ Veronica!” his mother hissed at him. “You must realize that sooner rather than later!”

“Why?” Roman challenged. “Why do I have to ‘realize’ something that is simply a lie?! I’m following your instructions, Mother! What more could you possibly want?! You can’t simply change my mind about who I am!”

His mother got in his personal space and he flinched, expecting a slap that never came. “If you don’t stop this silly charade and snap out of this delusion, then the Byron’s might very well have you committed!”

“That would be better than this,” Roman spat. “Because the doctors would actually listen to me!”

His mother growled and Roman just stared her down. Footsteps came up from behind him. “Is there a problem, Your Majesty?” Damien asked.

“No,” his mother bit. “Just talking with Veronica about family matters.”

“Ah,” Damien said, walking up to stand next to Roman. “I hope nothing serious is the matter at home?”

“No,” Roman said. “Nothing is the matter.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” his mother said.

“Remus is fine, Father is fine, I’m fine, the only one who seems to have a problem right now is you, Mother!” Roman shook his head. “I don’t understand how you can be so distressed by something that you yourself planned!”

Damien’s arm snaked around Roman’s waist and Roman tried to not be too obviously surprised. “Second thoughts about the wedding, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Roman’s mother said stiffly. “Veronica’s...confusion seems to be a bit more pervasive than I thought.”

“She seems of perfectly sound mind to me,” Damien said simply. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

“No,” Roman said. “You know everything I know. Why my mother is upset is a mystery to me.”

His mother glared at him but Roman just shrugged. “I’m fine, Mother. No need to worry.”

“I was hoping to talk to you, Your Highness,” Damien said. “About some things concerning the wedding. More specifically, the tailor coming in to take your measurements after dinner.”

“Oh,” Roman said simply. “Let me take my clothes back to my room and we can talk? Does my mother need to be in attendance?”

“Actually, I was hoping we could talk privately,” Damien said. “Nothing too risqué, just what you should expect from our tailor. And why it may be a good idea to stick to something...ah...non-provocative.”

Roman felt dread build in his stomach. “The tailor wouldn’t try anything, would he?”

“Goodness, no,” Damien assured. “He would, however, tell you exactly why your cup size is wrong, whether or not lace looks good on your body, and what color lingerie you should choose whenever you’re trying to impress a man, which is to say impress me. He’s...mischievous. If you wear something modest he’s less likely to go into all those details. It’s not a one-hundred percent guarantee, but it does increase your odds of being spared those awkward moments.”

“Why would this need to be discussed in private?” Roman asked.

“Well, I have a tendency to wander into anecdotes, and I really don’t feel like giving Her Majesty an in-depth description of Remy’s advice on what type of jockstrap I should invest in.”

Roman’s mother went red and Roman snickered. “Oh, dear. Yeah, I don’t think I would be interested in that either, however, so I think your simplified explanation here would suffice.”

“And here I was hoping for an excuse to talk to you alone,” Damien said, snapping his fingers and scuffing his feet on the floor.

Roman laughed. “You could just ask, Your Highness.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” Damien asked with a smirk.

Roman laughed. “You are funny, Your Highness, I’ll give you that. How about I put my clothes in my room and then we can talk?”

“Sounds perfect,” Damien said.

Roman put the clothes away quickly, but not quickly enough. When he came back out, his mother was interrogating Damien quietly, no doubt asking him about if Roman had said anything out of the ordinary. “Your Majesty, I can assure you I would tell you if anything untoward were occurring. Everything is perfectly fine.”

Roman’s mother looked like she didn’t quite believe Damien. “You didn’t strike me as the mischievous type and then I walk outside today and you have my daughter covered in paint. Forgive me if I don’t trust you right away.”

“Mother!” Roman sighed as he walked over. “Damien is fine. We both were goofing off, that’s how the paint got everywhere. Don’t tell the man who you picked out for me to marry that you don’t trust him! That doesn’t come across very well.”

His mother glared at him. “I’m merely warning him about what I expect to see from him,” she said. “After all, I can’t have you marry just anyone.”

Roman glanced at Damien, who looked decidedly unimpressed his mother. “But Damien isn’t ‘just anyone,’” he pointed out. “After all, you said yourself that he’d treat me ‘like the princess I am.’ What could he possibly do to lose the trust you put in him?”

Damien flinched at the princess comment, but Roman’s mother failed to notice. She simply snarled and said, “Don’t backtalk me, young lady.”

Roman took in a sharp breath and grinned. “Hoo, boy, okay. There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t know where to start.”

“Um. Ladies?” Damien asked. “Might we be able to drop this conversation? Preferably before a shouting match starts?”

Roman cringed. “Sorry, Your Highness. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Damien shrugged. “It’s not a big deal, my dear. I just don’t want any bad blood brewing.”

Roman sent Damien a look that roughly equated to It’s a bit late for that. He crossed his arms and said, “So, do you still want to talk to me?”

“Yes, actually,” Damien said.

Roman’s mother cut in. “I need to speak to both of you before dinner tonight, so how about we find some place to sit down and I’ll tell you what you need to know. Then you can be left to your own devices before dinner.”

“Why do we need to talk before dinner?” Roman asked.

His mother sent him a look. “Because one of our ambassadors knows about your little stunt back at home. You know which one and who. And we need to clear the air before she shows up.”

“Little...stunt?” Damien asked.

“I can explain further when we’re in private,” his mother said.

Damien shot Roman a nervous look but walked down the halls until they were in a small alcove in one of the corners of the castle. It was small, with only a sofa and two chairs, but the evening light streaming in through the windows and the light cream paint on the walls made it seem bigger than it actually was.

Damien took a seat on the sofa and Roman sat down next to him, giving him a good amount of personal space. Roman’s mother sat down in one of the chairs. “So this stunt,” his mother began, “Is part of the reason why Veronica is here. She got it into her head that she was somehow a man. Wanted to choose a different name, be addressed as a prince, and nearly cut off her gorgeous hair.”

Roman was amazed by Damien’s poker face. He didn’t give a single thing away. “I don’t understand why that would be a stunt,” he said.

“Well, her father and I talked to everyone in the castle about it and with enough pressing on her brother, it came to light that some of her online...‘friends’ convinced her to prank everyone by claiming she was a transgender. And her father and I realized that we had been giving her far too much leeway, if she thought that those sorts of pranks were all right. I mean, being gay and the like is a very serious matter,” his mother continued. Roman’s hands were balled into white-knuckled fists. “And we discussed it, and agreed that if she were to get married, she would be forced to drop this elaborate charade she had going on. As it was, she refused to be acknowledged as anything but a man, even after we found out about the fact that it was a prank.”

Damien looked at Roman’s mother and simply said, “I see.” He turned to Roman. “I assume that might be why your mother and yourself have been at odds while you’ve been here?”

“It wasn’t a prank,” Roman said, hands shaking. “It wasn’t.”

“But...you are going by Veronica, now,” Damien said.

“At my mother’s insistence,” Roman huffed. “She thinks that I’m crazy, and malicious, and trying to make light out of a very serious ‘condition.’ And she didn’t tell you or your parents right away because she had hoped that no one who knew about this would come to the castle. I assure you that the only reason you are hearing about it now is because of this particular ambassador being at dinner tonight. She doesn’t want questions being asked, even if they deserve to be asked.”

“Oh,” Damien said. “I’m...still afraid I don’t understand. Are you a man, then?”

Roman’s mother stiffened. “It was all a prank!” she insisted. “Veronica simply doesn’t want to admit that she had been found out!”

“It wasn’t a prank,” Roman snarled. “It was a plan to get my hair cut short again. I hate it long. It was a plan to get myself to feel more comfortable in my skin. I hate being referred to as a princess. It was a plan to...to actually feel loved, for once.” Roman swiped at the frustrated tears coming to his eyes. “Because I don’t feel any love as Veronica.”

Damien blinked, grabbing Roman’s hands in his own. “Believe me my dear,” he said earnestly, “When I say that I will love you no matter what.”

“Veronica,” his mother prompted. “You will always have people who love you. You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not in order to be loved.”

“Then why can’t I be a man?!” Roman snapped. “If I will be loved no matter who I am, why can’t I be a man?!”

“If you are transgender, my dear, that is perfectly fine,” Damien said. “But according to your mother, that is not your identity. And I, for one, am willing to show you that you can be loved no matter who you are. I want to prove to you that you are worth love. Just as you are.”

“And beyond that, Veronica, Damien is a man,” his mother said. “He cannot just simply marry another man.”

It took all of Roman’s willpower to not laugh in his mother’s face at that statement. Instead, fury was coursing through his veins. “You’re not listening to me!” he exclaimed. “Either of you! You’re not listening to what I want! I want to be a man! I want my hair short, I want to wear suits, not dresses, and I want to be a prince! Wanting that makes me transgender!” He hated the look of shock and hurt on Damien’s face as Roman stood, but Roman couldn’t have Damien getting in trouble just yet. “Why can’t you understand that what I want changes my identity?! You wanting me to be a woman doesn’t affect me or how I identify! I am transgender! I am a man!” He sniffled, backing out of the alcove. “I am a man! And until you can see that, Mother, I don’t want to speak to you!”

He ran out of the room, down the halls until he was convinced his mother wouldn’t come after him. He slowed to a walk, shaking his head and trying to not cry. He was so frustrated with himself. He couldn’t even let his mom lie to Damien when Damien knew full well what the truth was. He couldn’t sit back and take it like a man when his mother came swinging at him. Even if he was going to be fitted for a suit for the wedding. Even if he was going to get his hair cut to his liking. Even if he was going to be safe with Damien at the end of the week, he couldn’t stand to be deadnamed and misgendered for however long he was around his mother.

Damien jogged up to him and sighed. “You know, Roman,” he drawled. “I’m sure this would be easier to hide if you didn’t shout from the rooftops that you’re trans. As it was, I had to convince your mother to let me come after you alone. She was convinced that I was convinced of your ‘story.’”

“It might be easier for you,” Roman spat. “But it physically pains me when she uses my deadname against me.”

Damien sighed. “You’re right, that was...insensitive,” he said softly. “My apologies.”

Roman shook his head and swiped at his eyes. “I’m tired, Damien,” he admitted. “I’m so tired.”

“I understand why,” Damien said. “I wish I could whisk you away from your mother tonight and we could just run for the hills. But I have a duty to the country, and your face is pretty remarkable; it would be hard for anyone to not recognize you, even with your hair cut short and your chest bound.”

Roman sighed. “I don’t want to keep doing this, Damien,” he said. “I don’t. I want to jump off the cliff behind the castle and just...not be. But if I do that, when they find my body they’ll bury me in a dress and my tombstone would have my deadname. And I can’t have that.”

Damien shrugged. “Am I not a good enough reason to hang around?” he asked with a weak smile.

Roman laughed. “I try to not depend on people to live,” he said. “Because in all honesty I don’t think that tends to end well. For anyone.”

“You’re smarter than I am, then,” Damien said. “Because my list of reasons to keep this up are purely based on my parents and yourself. I want them to know I learned what is right and wrong from them and I want you to be safe.”

Roman shrugged. “You can have people on your list, but they shouldn’t be the sole reason, is what I’m saying. You said yourself that you know what’s right and what’s wrong. And this falls under that. Your moral code is a good reason to do something. And what’s more, it’s not people-based.”

Damien sniffed a single laugh and nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” he acknowledged.

They stopped in the middle of the hallway, turning to look at each other. “Sorry about yelling at you,” Roman said. “I didn’t want you on the hook, because if I only yelled at my mother she would suspect that something was going on.”

“I understand,” Damien said, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the floor. “It hurt, but it was for my safety. Although it gives me a small glimpse into what you have to deal with, Roman, and I must say I’m not fond of it.”

Roman kept crying, and he muffled a sob with his fist. Damien tutted and hugged Roman fiercely. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so, so sorry that you have to deal with this.”

“It’s hard,” Roman said. “It’s too hard. I can’t...I can’t do it!”

“You can,” Damien assured. “It will hurt like hell, but you can get through it. And I’ll be right there for you if you need it.”

Roman sniffled. “Thank you,” he breathed.

They took a step apart as footsteps approached and a man wearing a simple black polo shirt and a tie came into view. “Your Highness,” the man said to Damien. “I believe your parents were looking for you.”

Damien winced. “Great,” he muttered. He turned to Roman. “Are you going to be fine on your own, Roman?”

“Not if my mother finds me,” Roman said.

Damien nodded. “Okay. Would having someone with you help?”

“Maybe a little,” Roman said with a shrug.

“Logan, would you mind keeping Roman company until dinner, seeing as how I’ll be preoccupied? His mother is not the most accepting sort and I want to make sure that he’ll be all right.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Logan said with a nod. “I anticipate I could take Roman to the library and hide away there, or perhaps smuggle him into the kitchen.”

Damien smiled. “Thank you, Logan.”

Logan nodded and said, “I went over your essay this morning, and it was acceptable. I expect your annotated bibliographies to be a little more thorough in the future, however.”

Damien groaned and scratched the back of his neck again. “My brain gets fried when it comes to those,” he admitted. “But I will try. Where are my parents?”

“Greeting guests who are arriving for the dinner,” Logan said. “I would expect them in the entryway.”

Damien nodded and gave Roman’s hand a squeeze. “I must talk to my parents, but Logan knows every inch of this castle, he can keep you hidden away from your mother until dinner.”

Roman nodded and let Damien leave, although he felt a pang in his chest as the first person to respect his pronouns and name in this castle left him. Logan looked Roman over and offered him a small smile. “You’re quite the dashing prince, Roman.”

Roman offered Logan a hesitant smile. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Most people wouldn’t say so.”

“Most people would be blind, then,” Logan said with a small smile.

Roman laughed and played with his hair, undoing his braid and redoing it. “You know I’m to be married in a week?”

Logan laughed. “Yes, I am aware. Does not mean I cannot appreciate a natural beauty when I see one.”

Roman turned red and playfully shoved Logan. “Shut up,” he hissed. “I do not want to be bright red at dinner.”

Logan just offered Roman another smile. “If you are that affected by a simple compliment, Roman, you clearly have been deprived of people being honest about your beauty for far too long.”

“Stop!” Roman laughed. “I have been complimented before, but rarely has it been with my preferred gender descriptors in mind.”

Logan nodded. “I see,” he said. “Well, I suppose we must work to rectify that. If you wish, we can hide from your mother in the kitchen? Patton is an excellent cook and he’ll likely allow us samples if we ask nicely.”

“Sounds like fun,” Roman said.

“Excellent,” Logan gestured down the hallway. “Let’s go, I’ll show you the way.”

Tag List: @lunareclipse-13 @sanders-sides-crofters @blushy-gigglee-mess @wannacrymetoo @kaytikitty @magicalspacepanunicorn @bootsinthesun @pricklyfish777 @flowersanddinosaurs @leiasolo77 @birdybabybird @enby-phoenix @luna–28 @justagaygoose @the-prince-and-the-emo @fandomsandanythingelse @randommuffinyt @snekky-boi @thesoftestlittlepuffballwegot @twilight-trix @abby5577 @escalatingtoofast @friendlyfacestabbing @remus-is-stinky @foggybanditdreampeanut @ghostskull300 @sprinklestheditty @canvas-the-florist @askthesnake @samuel-the-gay @determination-saved @sparrowofsong @beyondthestacks @juicy-cashew @loganpatton @lilbeanblr @kittyboof8 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @sanders-trash-4ever @hamilspntrash @swords-and-kittens @phantomfander @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @rjmeta @ambersky0319 @anni-cat-flower @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @nafsbluebery @redisawerewolf23 @voidvirgil

#roceit #sanders sides fanfiction #deceit sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #royal growing pains #our creations

77 notes · View notes

wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Dad’s Wish List for Father’s Day

After a long year of working, changing diapers, driving kids to hockey practice at dawn, and/or prioritizing tuition payments over trips to Aruba, most dads are probably happy on Father’s Day just to go out to brunch, kick back and watch some sports or grill in the yard, and spend some time with the family — that’s what’s really special.

But there’s nothing wrong with hooking him up with some sweet gear.

So click about for some father-tested and -approved items — apparel, exercise equipment, spirits, plenty of golf gear — that are more or less guaranteed to put a little extra smile on your favorite dad’s face. —Ken Gee

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day. For Twitter updates, follow @YahooStyle and @YahooBeauty.

DadTile

Fender CD-60SCE Acoustic Guitar, Ecco Cage Pro shoes, TheraGun. (Photos: Handout, Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News, Handout)

Source: Yahoo Style

Fender CD-60SCE Acoustic Guitar

Many, if not most, guys wish they had some guitar chops. Fact is, your favorite dad is only three chords and a little practice away from a quality pastime, if not actual campfire glory. Fender’s CD-60SCE features a built-in tuner and pickup, an easy-play rosewood fingerboard for the lightly callused beginning to intermediate player, and cutaway design for advanced shredding. $299

Source: Yahoo Style

Haggar E-CLO Stria Dress Pants

Haggar may not jump out at you as the sexiest brand, but these slacks have a lot going for them. They’re washer-friendly and wrinkle-resistant. They’re versatile enough for golf, work, or a nice dinner — after which the hidden expandable waistband might come in handy. Their performance poly fabric is made in part out of recycled plastic bottles, so they have eco cred. And they sell for $35, which is nice. (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

Bradley Allan Polo Shirt

This shirt combines the look of a classic old-school cotton polo with a sleek cut and breathable, quick-drying cotton-poly-spandex fabric that will keep you cool even in the dog days of summer. $89 (Courtesy Bradley Allan)

Source: Yahoo Style

Mission Belts

Belts are one of those items a lot of men just don’t go out and buy for themselves and hence a perennial Father’s Day gift. Mission belts come in a variety of good-looking styles, with no holes. And the brand donates a portion of its sales to fighting hunger and providing micro-loans to developing nations. From $35 (Courtesy Mission Belts)

Source: Yahoo Style

Dad’s Hat Rye and Brooklyn Gin

Dad’s Hat Rye This Pennsylvania-made whiskey has an intense aroma and a flavor profile that features the grain and finishes with a hint of brown sugar. Great neat, but not too precious to mix with a soda or ginger and lime. Didn’t bother to look into the name, but the hat on the label is reminiscent of Bogart’s Phillip Marlow in The Big Sleep, who works some magic on the sexy bookstore clerk with the line “I’ve got a pretty good bottle of rye in my pocket. I’d rather get wet in here.” $63 Brooklyn Gin Somewhere along the line gin became the stodgy old “other white spirit,” with vodka becoming the booze of choice even in martinis. Brands like Brooklyn are making gin relevant again. Made with fresh cracked juniper berries and citrus, it has a lively flavor that’s great for trendy cocktails like the negroni as well as a classic martini. The art deco bottle itself is almost a gift item. $45 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

TheraGun

The TheraGun looks kind of like a power tool, but it’s actually a powerful massager that delivers stimulating and pain-relieving deep tissue and muscle vibration therapy. Originally designed for physical therapists and chiropractors to help patients suffering from injuries and chronic pain, its appeal quickly spread to professional sports teams, trainers, and basically anyone who tried it. It’s relaxing, it helps muscles recover from a workout, soreness, or tightness, and it just feels good. Like having a personal masseuse at your fingertips 24/7. $599 (Courtesy TheraGun)

Source: Yahoo Style

Under Armour Speedform Velociti RE Running Shoes

These springy, breathable mesh superlightweight trainers come with an added advantage: They track and analyze your running statistics and store them on the UA MapMyRun MVP app — you get a free one-year subscription with purchase, so Dad can chart his progress and set his fitness goals. $139 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

Second Skin QUATROFLX Compression Shirt and Shorts

If he’s committing to a workout regimen, having some compression exercise wear is beneficial. It’s thought to boost blood flow and help clear lactose to boost workout performance. Second Skin has double panels for comfort in sensitive areas and wicks moisture to keep you cool. And wearing it will accentuate Dad’s chiseled physique. Short sleeve top, $50; shorts, $40 (Courtesy of Dick’s Sporting Goods)

Source: Yahoo Style

Masterbuilt 30-inch Black Digital Smoker

Serving up delicious meats, fish, and even vegetables with this durable, compact smoker is almost too easy. Just keep an eye on the digital thermometer till it reaches the prescribed temperature. So instead of standing over a grill getting smoke in his eyes and overcooking the steaks again, Dad can enjoy some backyard games, relax in his comfy chair with a beer, or read a good book… $199 (Courtesy Field & Stream)

Source: Yahoo Style

‘The Gargoyle Hunters’

Set in New York City in the mid-1970s, this debut novel by John Freeman Gill follows the adventures of Griffin Watts, a 13-year-old dealing with girls, his parents’ divorce, and the daily threat of getting mugged. While not sparring with the cast of eccentric boarders his mother brings into their brownstone to help pay the bills, Griffin becomes involved in his father’s mad scheme to “rescue” some of Manhattan’s architectural treasures before they are sacrificed to urban renewal. The book paints a vivid and often hilarious picture of the city and builds to an epic conclusion. But on one level, the story is heartbreakingly simple: It’s about a boy’s need to spend more time with his father. $19 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

TaylorMade TP5 and TP5X Golf Balls

If your man has some golf chops, he can definitely take advantage of a high-quality golf ball. The new balls from TaylorMade have a soft feel that promotes control of the ball off the clubface as well as on the greens; the TP5 will grip and stop where lesser balls will hit and roll away into bogey territory. He might prefer the TP5X for a little more distance or the TP5 for accurate chip shots. $45/dozen (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

TecTecTec! VPR0500

This rangefinder calculates distances of up to 540 yards to within a yard, has 6x magnification with ultra-clear optics, and comes with a hard-shell carrying case, battery, and strap — i.e., everything you want in a rangefinder. And it costs about a third of what quality rangefinders cost just a few years ago. $135 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

Ecco Cage Pro shoes

Ecco, which pioneered the hybrid golf shoe, is also the leader in creating high-performance golf shoes that also look totally cool. The Cage Pros are ergonomically designed to allow the foot’s natural pivot while providing maximum grip and stability. They’re also breathable, lightweight, and water-resistant. And while they’re not technically hybrids, if Dad forgets to change out of them after the round, he absolutely won’t look silly. $210 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

Odyssey O-Works Tank #7 Putter

Even pros are constantly tinkering and often changing putters, so every few years the average guy has to start blaming his putter and looking for something better. Odyssey is always there with a few great options. This putter has a bunch of features that add up to balance and stability. And the oversize grip helps keep the hands from getting twitchy. $229 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

Callaway GBB Epic Driver

Callaway’s latest driver represents a lot of technical improvements. But we’ll just share an anecdote. Our brother, a hardworking father of three, was a beleaguered driver of the golf ball. Not terrible, but inconsistent, erratic. We gave him an Epic this spring and he steadily became a longer driver of the golf ball, a straighter driver of the golf ball, a more confident driver of the golf ball. True story. It’s a beautiful club too, and the father in your life can custom-build it online. $499 (Gordon Donovan/Yahoo News)

Source: Yahoo Style

#_revsp:wp.yahoo.style.us #golf #_uuid:3e951a4d-e57a-3944-870b-aae086f7f0e1 #fitness #Fathers Day #menswear #gift guide #spirits #slideshow #cooking #_lmsid:a0Vd000000AE7lXEAT

2 notes · View notes

hottytoddynews · 7 years ago

Link

Tad Wilkes, aka Moon Pie Curtis

Oxford singer-songwriter Tad Wilkes is living proof that good things come to those who wait. Some just have to wait a good while longer than they ever imagined.

After more than 25 years of honing his craft and polishing his riffs in local bars and cafés, Wilkes has scored his first win in a national competition, beating out more than 600 fellow tunesmiths for first place in the prestigious bimonthly American Songwriter Lyric Contest, sponsored by American Songwriter magazine.

“I still don’t really believe it happened,” said Wilkes, a longtime journalist and the Oxford-based editor of Hotel F&B Magazine.

Wilkes’ winning entry, “Be Good To Your Woman,” will be featured in American Songwriter’s upcoming March-April issue. It will also be one of six finalists for the magazine’s grand-prize competition at the end of 2018.

“I’ve entered their contest a few times in the past, but I never placed or anything,” Wilkes said. “You’re going up against songwriters from all over the country and maybe internationally. I had actually submitted a different song to the previous issue and didn’t get anywhere. I’m not even sure why I decided to submit another one. It was only a $15 fee, and I figured I could spend that. But I had no hope that I’d win.”

Wilkes received a new PRS acoustic guitar and a Sennheiser microphone, but the real prize is the exposure—including a Q&A interview with photographs—in one of the music industry’s top magazines. Recent issues have spotlighted acclaimed artists like Willie Nelson (the January-February cover subject), Chris Hillman, Kenny Chesney and Nicky Mehta of The Wailin’ Jennys.

The magazine’s lyric contests are judged by some of the leading songwriters in the business, including Charlie Worsham, whose album, “Beginning of Things,” was named one of the “25 Best Country and Americana Albums of 2017” by Rolling Stone; Grammy and Oscar nominee Allison Moorer; Taylor Goldsmith, the frontman of indie rock band Dawes; and Austin-based Slaid Cleaves, hailed by Rolling Stone as “Americana’s most underappreciated songwriter.”

“These are all songwriters’ songwriters,” Wilkes notes.

Like a lot of those masters of the craft, Wilkes’ own musical style defies easy labels. It owes a little bit to the likes of Guy Clark, John Prine and Kris Kristofferson and a lot to no one you’ve ever heard before. Peppered with raunchy wit and piercing self-deprecation, his songs manage to be intensely personal and universal at the same time, filled with longing and laugh-out-loud one-liners. Even the saddest and sweetest of his songs will make you guffaw when you least expect it.

His debut CD, “Enter the Fool,” released in 2015 and co-produced by his good friend and former songwriting partner Joshua Cooker of the Nashville-based Captain Midnight Band, features both a comedic paean to sexy soccer moms in yoga pants (“Your Mama and Them”) and a snappy, bluesy-rock rumination on the bitter aftermath of a failed marriage (“It’s Called Divorce”).

“Enter the Fool” is available for purchase at Apple Music and on Spotify.

The cleverly metaphorical and immensely catchy “Be Kind, Rewind,” meanwhile, portrays a doomed romance in terms of Hollywood artifice:

Remember the opening credits We were both billed as stars The director yelled ‘action’ And we made out in my car But somewhere in the second act The storyline went south Some hack writer put some crappy dialogue In my mouth It all came out And I don’t even know what I was talking about

It’s a style that Wilkes has been fine-tuning since he was a teenager. “In high school, I made up what I would call novelty songs—silly, juvenile kind of stuff,” he recalled. “Songs with titles like ‘Booger on the Bronco’ and ‘Eatin’ Dog Food.’ My friend Ayers Spencer and I had a band called The Dingleberries—I sort of dragged him into it.”

At Ole Miss, Wilkes and Cooker went on to form the hard-partying band Cardinal Fluff and began taking songwriting more seriously. “Josh and I started writing songs together—even though they were still funny, they were real songs,” he said. “We were serious about being funny, sort of like Frank Zappa. I got my first real acoustic guitar at that time and then started listening to old country music and writing my own songs.”

Delving into the roots of what would later become known as the Americana genre, he immersed himself in the works of country- and folk-music storytellers like Prine, Clark, Steve Goodman, Jerry Jeff Walker and Willie Nelson. He also absorbed a lesson or two from another master raconteur, his own father, the late Dr. Thurston Wilkes. “He could tell a joke better than anybody,” Wilkes recalled. “From my dad I think I learned to add a little humor to complement the darkness and the deep thoughts—or what qualify as deep thoughts for me, anyway. Like George Carlin or Richard Pryor, he chose every word carefully, knew how to put each word in exactly the right place with the right emphasis. The first line of any song is the first impression, so I always believed in having a great first line. You add a little humor to see if they’re paying attention. That’s what my dad would do—he would throw some off-color joke into the conversation just to see if you were listening.”

Wilkes’ father, Dr. Thurston Wilkes, known for his hilarious off-color jokes and anecdotes, influenced his son’s songwriting style.

In Cardinal Fluff, Wilkes invented an off-color persona of his own, a bewigged, madcap character called Moon Pie Curtis, a name that he still performs under today (minus the wig and the wacky wordplay), while Cooker re-christened himself Captain Midnight. Cardinal Fluff lasted six or seven years, performing hilariously dirty-minded ditties with titles like “Position Impossible” and “Proud Totem.” But the bandmates parted ways when Cooker moved to New Orleans and then to Nashville, where the guitar-slinging Captain Midnight still fronts his own jam band and describes himself as “an internationally ignored superstar … (and) the world’s only purveyor of waterbed rock-and-roll.”

Wilkes, meanwhile, opted for a quieter, more domesticated life. “I thought, ‘Well, I want to have a family, so I should have a real job and keep living in Oxford.’ Songwriting was something I could still do here whenever I wanted. I figured it’s not like being a stand-up comic where you have to live in L.A. But, while that’s technically true, your chances of success in songwriting are much lower if you don’t live in Nashville and you’re not networking and co-writing and working with other musicians every day. I don’t think I really appreciated the magnitude of that at the time.”

Not that he has any regrets about opting for the joys of hometown domestication. He and his wife, Amy, have two adorable young daughters, and, in addition to his job with Hotel F&B, he founded Roxford University, a unique music school for children that offers both individual lessons in various instruments and a live-performance track, giving kids the experience of starting their own bands and putting on concerts twice a year.

In the meantime, Wilkes’ songwriting and musicianship have continued to evolve and mature. “Be Good to Your Woman,” the song that won the American Songwriter contest, was inspired by a piece of advice given to him years ago by his grandmother on her deathbed. “She had heart disease, and even breathing had become painful for her,” he said. “One day she told me, ‘Make sure to be good to your woman because they think real deep, and they hurt real easy.’ That just stuck in my head for years. But it’s hard for me to write a song like that—something that’s so heavy and deep. That was a tall order.”

The last thing Wilkes wanted to write was some maudlin, cliché-ridden tear-jerker, so he took his time with it—a lot of time. “I thought the first version was the best song I’d ever written,” he said. “That was about 10 years ago. Then, I realized the second verse was throwing the whole vibe off-course. It reflected my own distinctly male point of view, and that wasn’t what I wanted the song to be about. I knew I had to redo it. Looking back, it’s probably a good thing that I put so much thought into this one song, making all those revisions. I guess I always thought somebody would hear it eventually, and I wanted it to be perfect.”

“Be Good to Your Woman” will likely appear on Wilkes’ next CD, which he plans to cut with Cooker later this year. Although Wilkes, in his Moon Pie Curtis gigs, usually plays solo and unplugged, full studio instrumentation and Cooker’s sure hand on the production side bring glossy new life to his tunes while preserving the raw, throbbing ache that lies just underneath the wryly funny lyrics.

And winning the American Songwriter contest proved that Wilkes can still get his songs heard in Nashville without living there.

“It means that I haven’t been wasting my time doing some silly creative endeavor all these years,” he said. “I don’t feel discouraged about writing songs anymore. Now I know I’m not just doing it for myself.”

By Rick Hynum

The post Oxford’s Tad Wilkes Wins National Lyrics Contest with American Songwriter Magazine appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

#hottytoddy #olemiss #oxfordms #oxford ms #mississippi #university of mississippi #the grove

0 notes

anavoliselenu · 8 years ago

Text

Manwhore chapter 7

I shake my head, not turning around to see him following me to the elevators. “I need to go.”

“Selena. See me for drinks tomorrow,” he says.

I press the “down” arrow several times and thank god the elevator door opens right away. “I can’t . . . Justin,” I say, and slip inside.

“Justin!” he calls back gruffly as I board the elevator.

I’m numb on the way home.

Justin.

I can’t even think his name; it seems so intimate, after what we did.

What did we do? He touched my hand. He kissed the corner of my mouth. And then he kissed me, tongued me, put my arms around him, and he felt so strong, tall, solid, powerful, and I felt so weak, so liquid, so vulnerable that I wanted him to do more things to me, things that make me feel both more and less whole, that make me feel like air, like a pool of desire

We didn’t have sex, but we hardly even needed to; I basically let him eat me up alive.

Exhaling noisily, I try to focus on the buildings ahead, on the people walking down the sidewalk. Get out of your head, Livingston. No, get out of your hormones. Use this for the exposé. Justin is challenged or intrigued by you, and soon it’ll be over and you’ll have everything you need, everything the world wants to know.

I pep-talk myself all the way home but nothing gives me peace.

The best work I’ve ever done in my life, I lost a little piece of myself. I can’t bear to think what size chunk I’m gonna lose by the time I’m done with the exposé.

I’m horny, and my horniness is due to the fact that Justin wants to have sex with me. It’s so obvious: his body was vibrating and his eyes were heavy-lidded, and against my body I felt the way he wanted me. Clearly he’s a playboy. He uses sex for . . . something. I can’t be used like that. I’m a professional. I need to keep barriers up—things like that can’t happen. As long as I put up the walls between us again, it’ll be good. It has to be.

During cocktails the next evening, Gina is outraged over Wynn’s anecdote.

“I’m telling you, he stepped into the store and asked me to pose for him,” Wynn assures us.

“Why, Selena? Tell me why Wynn has a boyfriend and now has another guy hot for her. On her tail. And she did absolutely nothing but ask him if he was looking for any particular oil or candle from her shop!”

I sip on my cocktail, my brain all over the place. Maybe not all over the place; it’s just not here. It’s back in the top-floor conference room at Interface.

“Selena? I mean, seriously, why does Wynn attract all the men? And let it be clear that I do not want one, but it would be nice if one wanted me, you know?”

God, he. Kissed. Me. HARD. I kissed him just as hard. We made out.

“So was he hot, at least?” Gina asks Wynn.

“Oh, he was definitely hot, but I’m with Emmett—I couldn’t possibly!”

Okay, so the guy can kiss. He’s a player, of course he can. But that doesn’t mean it will happen again. In fact, it means that I really should not allow it to happen again.

“Really, Selena, are you listening?”

Because my friends look so puzzled, I try to pull myself back to the topic at hand. Wynn, yes. And her ability to attract more and more men even while happily in a relationship with one. “Like attracts like, I guess. Rich people become richer, the poor poorer, isn’t that how the saying goes? Give a poor guy a thousand dollars and he comes back with a pair of designer jeans; give a rich guy a thousand and he comes back with ten thousand.”

“Give a thousand to Justin and he comes back with a million.”

Justin, well, yes. “He does have the touch,” I admit.

“And you know this touch?” Wynn prods with a little smile.

There’s no way I’m divulging my darkest office-kiss secret, so I sip my cocktail.

“Oh, I know that look, the look of ‘she’s been dreaming of his touch,’ ” Wynn says.

I zip my mouth and throw away the invisible key, then I tease, “We all know you jinx your dreams if you talk about them.” I shrug. “Plus, the dreams need to stay in bed because it’s not happening. I mean, it’s ludicrous to think of giving up a great career opportunity just for a fling with a known womanizer. Right?”

“Found anything extra juicy?”

“You mean other than him?” I arch a brow. They laugh, but inside, I’m aching. My body’s aching in places it shouldn’t even ache. I didn’t know that your breasts could ache like this and it could have nothing to do with PMSing. Deep inside, between my legs, where I want him, I ache.

“I’m cutting tonight early,” Wynn says with a quick glance at her watch, reaching for her coat from the back of her chair.

“No, come on, it’s girls’ night, we don’t see you anymore,” Gina complains.

“Well, because I have Emmett. Relationships need to be nurtured. Like little plants!” She grins.

“I’m in a serious relationship with Chris Hemsworth, he just doesn’t know it yet.” Gina sticks her tongue out and then sucks on her straw.

“You two, really. Sometimes I just can’t take how you are.” Hands planted on her waist, Wynn shoots us an I-don’t-even-know-why-I-love-you stare.

“What? What’s wrong with us?” Gina asks.

“Well don’t you want it? Don’t you really want to find it? Because out there, half the people have it, the others are looking for it, others just lost it, but it’s there. You can’t ignore what it is.”

“It sounds like influenza,” Gina grumbles.

Wynn shakes her head. “You two can say anything about me, but I’m going for it. And to you two cowards, I say you should go for it too. Find a guy who can love you like crazy and love him right back. What’s the worst thing that can happen? That we’ll need a couple extra cocktails when we meet next time?”

When neither of us says anything, Wynn adds, “I’ll tell you what, they’re on me.”

“The guys or the drinks?” asks Gina.

The moment Wynn angrily drops a bill down on the table and leaves, Gina turns to me. “I think she told Emmett she loves him and he didn’t say it back yet.”

I think of how humiliating it must be to tell a guy you went ahead and fell in love with him and not have him say it back as I swirl my cocktail.

The rest of the night Gina and I discuss everything except the one masculine, relentless thing in my brain.

My T-shirt feels extra thin as I go to bed that night, and somehow my skin feels extra sensitive beneath it. So when I wake up in the middle of the night again, sweating and whimpering, I’m not even surprised by who it is I’m dreaming of.

My blood is lava in my veins, desire rushing through my body to the point that every inch of me is trembling under the covers. I wish it were just channeled desire; desire to know more about the subject, deep things, silly things, things nobody else will know, even things I might not include in my piece just because I need to satiate this need to know. But it’s also desire of another kind—uncontrollable, unreasoned, unplanned, and unwanted. Desire from the very pit of my being and not from my intellect but from something more primal and old inside me, something that hasn’t ever really responded to anything or anyone before.

“Oh, Selena,” I groan when I find my hand wandering between my thighs. “Don’t, Selena,” I say, stopping my hand on the inside of my thigh. For a moment I think I’m going to win, until I remember how he kissed me, remember how neither of us wanted to stop, and, because this is the only way I can let myself have him, I slip my hand deeper between my thighs and tell Justin how deeply and how deep I want him.

INTERFACE INAUGURAL

Come with me to the Interface inaugural tonight

M.S.

You mean as press?

Selena

We can discuss when you arrive—Otis will pick you up at 8 p.m.

M.S.

I’d love to go as press. Thank you for the news opportunity.

Selena

“Silver is the bomb on you,” Gina says approvingly as I twirl around to get her verdict. She keeps nodding and nodding, obviously pleased. “Stunning, Selena. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not sure about this dress of Wynn’s, it’s so sexy.” I take in the long, silky curves of my body in the full-length closet mirror. “If he doesn’t stand a chance, neither do I.” I laugh, then fall sober and feel my cheeks go hot.

I remember the way we both couldn’t stop kissing the last time we were together, and wonder what he’ll do when he sees me in this. The material is sleek, shiny, and cool. Fit for a mermaid, and the fabric clings to my every curve like a man’s lips would, and his hands could.

“What do you mean?” counters Gina. “He’s a playboy. Hello? You don’t like that sort of guy. You and I are the smart girls, remember?”

Following the urge to inspect my feet, I then search for my clutch, tucking it under my arm. “I gotta go.”

“Selena!” Gina calls. “Just think of the story. You’re flesh and bone, but try to leave the flesh and bone, the heart and the woman, home. Take your brain with you, that’s all.”

I bite my lip and nod, wishing I felt more confident. I need a Justin Justin vaccine, for immunity, and I need it now. “What are you doing tonight?” I ask Gina.

“I’m going with Wynn and Emmett to watch some movie premiere.”

“Okay, have fun.”

The night is cool and a little rainy as I slip into the Rolls-Royce, the driver shielding me with an umbrella, and my heart flutters when the scent of the car’s leather interior, which I associate with Justin, reaches my nostrils again. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach, my chest, everywhere. I wish I could leave the flutters home.

As the Rolls pulls into traffic, I mentally caution myself against overthinking tonight. I’m obviously going to pretend we didn’t kiss. Definitely that I didn’t ask him to. Then I realize I’ve never really had the courage to speak to his driver, so this time I clear my throat and start with, “How’s your day, sir?”

“Good, Miss Livingston.”

“It occurs to me we haven’t been formally introduced.”

“Otis.”

“Nice to meet you, Otis. How long have you been working with Mr. Justin?” I ask, trying to get back into investigative mode.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not free to say.”

“Oh, come on.” I laugh a little, but he doesn’t say more.

“Do you transport all his dates around town?”

A shake of his head.

“Give me one, at least,” I insist.

“All right. No,” he says.

“Only his businessmen?”

“That would be Claude.”

I roll my eyes. “He has several drivers, of course.”

He nods.

“Who do you drive around?”

“Usually? Justin.”

“Why are you driving me?”

“Justin,” he answers.

“And who drove Justin to the event if you didn’t drive him?”

“Justin.”

Amusement curls my lips. “Have you known him long?”

He hesitates.

“All right, so I know I said one. Just give me one more. Your boss is so elusive.”

“I’ve known him since he was fourteen—and Mr. Noel hired me to keep him out of trouble.”

I’m surprised into silence by this.

“Oh, I know it’s coming. Fine job I did?” he asks.

“I didn’t say that. Everyone knows your boss has a mind of his own. I don’t think anyone could’ve controlled him.”

“The more they tried, the less controllable he became.” He shakes his head. “I’ve spoken too much.” He looks up at me in the rearview mirror. “But he trusts you . . . and I trust his judgment.”

“What makes you say he trusts me?”

“Hunch.” He shrugs. “Comes from knowing him over a decade. First of his girls I get to drive around.”

I blush. “Oh, I’m not one of his girls.” And I’ll never be.

He smiles knowingly and helps me out of the car, and one sumptuous lobby later, I step into the lap of absolute and complete luxury. Water fountain. Glowing crystal chandeliers.

Getting a little more nervous with each step I take, I walk down a long hall outside the ballroom and straight to the press entrance, where I wait my turn to give my name to one of the ladies in charge.

“Hi, Selena Livingston from Edge, please.”

“Good evening, Selena, let me find you here on my clipboard list. . . . Hmmm. Well . . . let’s see. . . . You don’t seem to be under the L. Any middle name under which I can check too?”

When I shake my head, she goes over to one of her coworkers. They whisper for a bit, comparing clipboard pages, until finally, illumination seems to strike the woman I was talking to. Her expression changes from a worried frown to a beaming smile as she scrambles back to me. “Oh, well, mystery solved! You’re with Justin himself—this is quite the development!” she whispers excitedly, pointing to the guest entrance. God, really? More flutters.

Pasting a false smile on my face as if I’m happy about this—well, am I?—I walk down a long hall and follow the sound of the music past soaring columns and below vaulted ceilings. I venture deep into the crowd, walking amid his eclectic group of friends and employees. I become aware of the women and how they instantly size me up as competition for Justin’s attention. The men stare too, their gazes appreciative. I’ve got great hair and long legs, and interesting eyes . . . maybe I’m not a buxom blonde, but I’ve got a great ass. Oh god, look at him. I almost stumble when I spot him at the far end, near a chocolate fountain.

His backside is to me—so impressive, my mouth dries. I can see the definition of his back and arms in the jacket he wears, his black slacks hugging the best male body I’ve ever seen.

Callan points Justin in my direction, and I spur myself forward again as he turns around. His eyes catch mine, and the whole time I approach with uneasy steps, they stay trained on me. His chest goes wide as if he’s pulling in a sharp breath, and I can’t breathe.

He’s in black tie and a devilish suit, his hands at his side. He’s unsmiling, his jaw tightening when he notices the other men looking at me.

I see the women flanking him, and I’m hit by a wave of jealousy so deep I tremble.

We kissed—that’s all. I don’t care what he does. I’m not interested in him in an intimate way, I keep reminding myself. Not in a woman’s way, just a reporter’s.

He’s just a man—a playboy, womanizer, hell, a manwhore—and I just need to store all this information and then write an exposé so people can experience what I’m experiencing.

It doesn’t matter that he stands with two women. They’re not touching him, but oh, yes, I can tell from their glum expressions that they have before. He’s used them. And they have used him. But it doesn’t matter if people use him, or if people even understand or know the real him, because all I care about is getting this exposé right. Right?

This isn’t about me, it’s about a story about the man.

Still, my stomach aches with unfamiliar possessiveness as I stop before him. He looks at me, straight into my eyes, and I look straight into his.

“Did you think you would get away with using the press entrance?” he asks me, lips quirking. Hmm. He’s got me pegged, hasn’t he?

“Did you enjoy not writing my name on the list and making everyone scramble to nearly kick me off the premises before they realized you wrote my name down next to your name?” I tease back, one eyebrow rising.

He laughs in true enjoyment. “Excuse us,” he tells the group, earning me a couple of venomous stares from the women as he takes my arm and slips it into the crook of his and draws me away.

“That’s quite a dress,” he whispers with a twinkle in his eye, his dark head ducked so he can say it in my ear.

“What does that mean?”

He smiles as he leads me to the table where Callan and Tahoe sit, each with a drop-dead-gorgeous girl. Justin pulls my chair out, then sits next to me as the room continues filling up.

“Are all the new Interface employees invited?” I ask him, looking around.

He nods, looking at me intently. “There are several connecting rooms to fit everyone. This room is mostly for directors and members of the board.” When I only smile, he spreads his arm out on the back of my chair and leans forward so that his voice is all I can hear, not the classical music in the background or the conversation. Just a voice in my ear. “Why do you insist on labeling yourself press?”

“I am press. I can’t delay writing the Interface story anymore, my magazine needs me to turn it in.”

“You don’t need a press badge to catch my attention. Nor do you need a badge to interview me.”

“Do you even lift anymore, Carmichael? Didn’t think so,” Tahoe baits Callan at the table. Because I’m so unnerved and unused to having a man’s attention like Justin’s attention is on me, I try to divert myself with their antics.

“I lift,” he argues.

“Haven’t seen that since I last fed my unicorn,” Tahoe drawls.

“It’s true, bro,” he answers.

“Justin, do you mind a suggestion for later?” Tahoe asks as Justin shifts in his seat to face him, the move bringing him closer to me. I instantly sit up straighter.

Justin sips his drink lazily, lips curling. “I’m down for whatever.”

“Good. Because you know what we should do . . .” Tahoe begins.

Justin: “That always precedes a terrible idea. So naturally, I’m game.”

“Let’s hit the pool on the top level.”

He chuckles and then looks at me only, his attention drawing my own helplessly back to him. “I like your friends so much better than you,” I say softly, so that only he hears.

In the warm lights, his gaze gleams like something liquid. His voice is quiet. “Do you really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Silence. My heart beats fast. He lifts his hand and brushes my hair behind my ear, and my earlobe burns when we hear a woman say from nearby, “Justin, I left my shoes at your place the other day. Can I still tell you about the charity I was hoping you’d—?”

“Monday at M4,” he says without inflection, his attention fixed on me.

The woman shoots me a look of pure hate, then is gone. I wonder if he’s sleeping with these women. I wonder—

“At least I know what they want. My bed or my wallet. Or both,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. His lips twisted adorably at the corners, he studies me. What do you want from me? those eyes ask.

“You should work out with Justin sometime. He’d kick your ass, probably. It’d be fun for you two,” Tahoe tells Callan from a distance.

As Sin looks down at me, I feel his hand slip under the table in search of mine. There’s the barest brush of his thumb when he finds my fingers, and then we hear the voice of an elderly man up on the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming today—we’re very excited about the inaugural dinner for the one and only Interface. I know you’re all as excited as I am to be part of this innovative family. And here with us is the genius behind it all, a man known for his edge, wit, and incredible zest for life. I give you, Justin Kyle Preston Logan JUSTIN!”

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers, his breath hot in my ear.

I’m blushing bright red from the touch of his hand, imprinted on my back as he stands and caresses me under the fall of my hair. As he heads for the podium, I can’t take the stares coming my way and the way I feel hot under my dress, moist between my legs, so completely affected I decide I can’t be with him tonight. I can’t sit here and pretend to be his date. It’s too wrong and it’s too much work for me.

I stand quietly as I hear him greet the crowd in that authoritative voice of his. “Good evening, and thanks for that, Roger.”

As I slip out the entrance and head to where the tables for press badges are set, I spot his assistant Cathy.

“Cathy, hi, do you remember me? I met you at—”

“Miss Livingston, of course.” She motions toward the ballroom. “Everything okay with your table?”

“Oh, it’s the best table, which is why I really can’t sit there. I’m here as press, you see. It’s such a misunderstanding, and Mr. Justin is so busy . . .”

I’m surprised by the way her face basically blooms when I mention him. “I understand,” she says quietly. “I did worry a good girl like you might be concerned about his reputation.”

“No, I mean . . . well, yes, that’s exactly why I need my badge. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong impression.”

“Especially him?” She looks at me, and I blush. “I can give you a thousand badges, Miss Livingston, but if he wants you, he’s going to come after you. He does have the patience of a Justin when it comes to getting what he wants.”

And you’re in love with him, I think, but say nothing because, thankfully, she’s printing my badge. “You’re happy working for him?” I ask.

“I wasn’t working at all until I began working for him. He was the only one who would give me a chance.” She smiles and hands me the badge.

Quietly, I head back into the room, and when I hear his voice in the microphone, rushes of electricity crackle down my spine. A wave of applause sweeps the room as everyone claps in excitement.

Standing in the back, I’m turning my badge over in search of the clip when I realize dozens of heads are swiveling in my direction. There’s no more Justin up on the podium.

Because he’s wending his way through the crowd, his wide torso carving a path as he comes straight for me.

“Are you done?” He doesn’t sound angry or impatient but . . . almost.

“I . . . yes.” Quickly, I lift the badge and try to attach it to my dress.

He takes my hand in his. “I do love those ears of yours, but they don’t seem to hear very well,” he murmurs in amusement. “You won’t be needing this.” He plucks the badge from my fingers.

“What? Why?”

“Justin!” a voice nearby calls. It’s a member of the media, asking for a shot, which Justin denies with a hand signal.

He then tucks my badge into his jacket pocket and takes my hand back into the crook of his arm. “Come,” he whispers in my ear, already leading me to the side of the room, to the doors that lead out onto a terrace overlooking a golf course. He steps out onto the terrace with me, and only then do I manage to pull my hand from the warm crook of his arm.

“I don’t think we should be here. Everybody saw that.”

“So?” He lifts his eyebrows, and I stand there, at a loss. His eyes gleam in the moonlight, and he looks succulent. Edible. Not just his lips, every part of him.

Slowly, his gaze slides downward. He radiates a vitality that draws me like a magnet. It unnerves me, but something in his voice soothes me. “Do you blame me for wanting you to myself for a few minutes, Selena?” he asks, his voice husky.

I have a thousand pictures of him, but none like this. The face I see right now isn’t for any camera; it’s for nobody to see. Not even me. There is pure, organic, unfiltered emotion etched across his features, roiling in his eyes.

He squeezes my hand to keep me from backing away from him, and then he reels me closer to him, his lips pulling into a smile because I resist a little.

“Come here,” he coaxes, finally managing to make my body loosen up enough for me to go where he wants me. Close to him.

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful as he looks down at me and brings me close enough to smell him. I imagine reaching out to touch his hard jaw, running my tongue up his tan chest to that laughing mouth.

I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Why he’s smiling like that. There are smiles that just make you want to smile back, but this smile makes you want to kiss it so hard.

He’s the first to move instead, his hand lifting only a fraction to rest on my face. “You look gorgeous,” he murmurs, and he brushes my lips with the pad of his thumb. I shiver involuntarily. “I could feast on your mouth . . . even longer than last time.”

“No, no kissing,” I breathe, but for a second, I let myself absorb the feeling of being close to someone who’s so much bigger and harder.

He runs his hand through my hair, and the sensation is so sweet and so intoxicating, I stay there. We stay like that.

He obviously knows he affects me. But he looks affected too, his body stonelike and buzzing with tension. We’re both affected. He brushes the tips of his fingers along the bare back of my dress, the warmth of his hand sending shivers through my body. We’re in an alcove, and there’s this intense you-and-me vibe.

Intense you-and-me vibe . . .

“I never do this.” I try to unwind his arms from around me. “Give me back my badge, please.”

“What for?” he murmurs, scowling softly.

“I need my badge. I’m . . . this isn’t . . .”

“No,” he says softly.

“I feel naked without my badge.”

He grins. “It’s still no.”

I groan and turn away, and when I glance at him, he’s looking at me with perfect amusement.

“Can I ask you some questions?” I say, reaching out a fast hand, catching him off guard and pulling my badge out of his jacket.

He laughs when I quickly step back so he can’t recover it; then he falls sober and recovers the distance he lost, his steps slow and measured. “Do you want to talk about Interface?”

I feel like Do you want to talk about Interface? has become code for something else.

“Yes,” I say primly, clipping the badge to my dress.

He looks at me. “Ask.” He seems pretty content to be interviewed, so I breathe a sigh of relief at last.

“What are your goals for Interface?”

He tucks a loose hair behind my ear. My ear burns when he eases back his hand. “To be number one in the market, leave the competition behind.”

I see him, hear him, his ambition, his determination, and their effects only grow stronger in me.

“Do you . . .” I trail off when he lifts his hand, caressing my cheek with the knuckles of one hand.

0 notes

hottytoddynews · 7 years ago

Link

Tad Wilkes, aka Moon Pie Curtis

Oxford singer-songwriter Tad Wilkes is living proof that good things come to those who wait. Some just have to wait a good while longer than they ever imagined.

“I still don’t really believe it happened,” said Wilkes, a longtime journalist and the Oxford-based editor of Hotel F&B Magazine.

“These are all songwriters’ songwriters,” Wilkes notes.

The cleverly metaphorical and immensely catchy “Be Kind, Rewind,” meanwhile, portrays a doomed romance in terms of Hollywood artifice:

Wilkes’ father, Dr. Thurston Wilkes, known for his hilarious off-color jokes and anecdotes, influenced his son’s songwriting style.

And winning the American Songwriter contest proved that Wilkes can still get his songs heard in Nashville without living there.

By Rick Hynum

The post Oxford’s Tad Wilkes Wins National Lyrics Contest with American Songwriter Magazine appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

#hottytoddy #olemiss #oxfordms #oxford ms #mississippi #university of mississippi #the grove

0 notes