M or F? (24 page)

Wait a minute—that wasn't Jenn's voice.

“Belina? Hold on—Jenn—do you have me on the three-way?”

“I just thought you wanted some help!” Jenn wailed.

“You let
Marcus
help you,” Belina huffed.

“And look where that got me,” I snapped. “And Jenn, I can't believe you told Belina the whole thing. Thanks a lot!”

“Okay, I am choosing not to take offense at that,” Belina cracked. “Look, Jenn has a point—all chat and no action makes Frannie a very confused girl.”

I sighed. Belina was right, and I knew it. My game was lame. “So what should I do?”

“Get him over there!” Belina cried. “Give him the big eyes and ask him to smear suntan lotion on your back.”

I rolled my eyes. “Ha, ha.”

“No, really,” Jenn agreed. “You've got to put the moves on him, Frannie. That's the only way.”

“There isn't a straight boy in this world who can resist a butt like yours,” Belina added.

Why do we always end up talking about my butt? I wondered. But the fact is, I knew that my best friends had a point—I'd never really given Jeffrey the chance to kiss me . . . so who knew if he secretly wanted to or not? So maybe it was time to put myself out there. . . . “Okay, you two,” I said finally. “Thanks for the ‘help.' Now please stop spying on me.”

“We aren't spying,” Jenn insisted. “We're helping!”

“Hanging up now,” I singsonged.

“Good luck!” Belina called just as I clicked off.

<> scrolled up the screen.

Do or die, I thought grimly as my fingers flew across the keyboard.

<>

<>

<>

Said the spider to the fly.

 

 

Okay, I thought as I scanned the living room, this place looks great. The soft music was playing, the lights were dim . . . I'd even lit a few candles. The family was gone, and I was ready.

“Hello, Jeffrey,” I said, practicing my sultry voice as I fluffed a couch pillow. “I'm so glad you could make it—”

Just then, my cellie chirped its cheery ring.

“So what are you wearing?” It was Jenn's voice.

“Is this a pervert?” I asked.

Jenn giggled. “Is he coming over?”

“On the way,” I announced proudly.

“So what are you wearing?” Jenn repeated.

“Frannie,” Belina piped up, “if you are wearing that black-and-red T-shirt and those orange camouflage pants you were wearing in school, girl, you'd better get your butt upstairs to change.”

I looked down at my outfit—which was exactly as Belina had described. “What's wrong with this outfit?”

“You have to wear something sexy,” Jenn urged.

“Jenn, I don't do sexy,” I informed her. “I do everything but sexy.”

“Just wear your underwear,” Jenn suggested. “Put a trench coat on over it, then give him a little peek.”

I snorted. “That is the dumbest thing you've ever said to me,” I informed her.

“Then just wear the underwear,” Belina suggested.

“Hanging up again,” I singsonged cheerfully. “Talk to you tomorrow!”

“Just remember to use physical contact!” Belina called before I could hang up.

Flipping closed my phone, I hurried into the kitchen, where my secret weapon lay waiting. I'd read online that ginseng increases “desire for the human touch,” so I'd dug around in my mom's medicine cabinet and finally come up with a couple of her drugstore herbal tablets. Apparently, it's also supposed to be good for your memory or whatever. Anyway, I broke the tablets and dumped them into the hot chocolate (okay, pay attention, people—chocolate is another aphrodisiac) that I was warming on the stove. Looks good, I thought as I gave the sweet, dark liquid a stir in the pan. And smells just like normal hot chocolate. I turned the stove down to warm and hurried upstairs.

I dashed into my room and closed the door, then hustled over to my closet and started flipping through outfits. Something sexy, something sexy, I thought as my wardrobe flicked past. Peasant blouse, striped pants, ugly green sweater, sparkly thing I've never worn, comfy jeans, bathrobe—no, no, no, no, no, no!

“Ugh—what happened to all of my sexy clothes?” I murmured to myself. As if I'd ever had any. I mean, I had a couple of clingy tops. But I was already wearing the clingiest T-shirt I owned, and Belina had said it wasn't going to cut it. I needed something that screamed, “Jump me!”

At that moment, my eye fell on the red bag at the bottom of my closet.

Intimate Pleasures,
it whispered at me.

“Oh no,” I told the bag. “No way. You're grossing me out just with your very existence.”

But you don't even know what's hidden inside my hot pink tissue paper,
the bag murmured.
It's something a little too big for your mom, which means it might fit you. . . . Besides, what choice do you have?

“Damn you, Intimate Pleasures,” I growled as I reached into the bag. I couldn't believe I was actually so desperate that I was willing to borrow my mom's negligee. There's something sick about this, I thought as—wincing—I pulled the article of clothing that was supposed to rejuvenate my parents' sex life out of the bag.

I held up the whatever-it-was and opened my eyes wide enough to get a quick peek.

Actually, I thought as I inspected it, it's not so bad. It was supposed to be a slip, I guess. It was black stretch satin and had red flowers embroidered at the bustline. It wasn't even that revealing or anything.

I might just be able to pull this off as a dress, I thought as I held the thing against my body. A very, very sexy dress.

I pulled off my clothes and yanked on the Intimate Pleasure, then looked in the mirror. I looked . . . good. The slip thing was shoving my boobs up so that they were on prominent display somewhere near the vicinity of my neck, and the fabric glowed softly in a very “touch me” way.

“Oh, hello, Jeffrey,” I cooed huskily. “Why, yes, my boobs have always been this rotund.” I laughed out loud and spun around. If this doesn't work, then I'll
know
Jeffrey's gay, I thought. Dang, even
I
want to jump me right now!

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

I froze.

“Ohmigosh,” I murmured. “Ohmigosh! What am I doing?” I can't go downstairs in a negligee! I realized. Am I crazy?

The doorbell rang again, twice this time.

“Just a minute!” I shouted. What to do? What to do? Where's a trench coat when you need one? Finally, I grabbed my hot pink bathrobe off the hanger and scurried downstairs.

Once I reached the door, I fluffed out my hair and then remembered that I was supposed to be sick, so I shouldn't look too good, so I patted it back down a little.

Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

“All right,” I snapped, then let out a tiny cough as I yanked open the door.

Jeffrey was standing there, holding a box of tissues and a stack of DVDs. He smiled that super-cute smile. “Hey,” he said as he stepped into the entranceway. “Thought you might need some cheering up.” He handed me the videos.

I flipped through them, my brain scanning for clues.

Young Frankenstein?
Straight.

Casablanca?
Not so straight.

Some Like It Hot?
Totally confused.

“Thanks,” I said, leading him into the living room. I put the videos down on the coffee table and perched next to him on the couch.

I smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Soft music played in the background.

And the silence between us yawned on.

Hmmm . . . I was starting to realize that I didn't really know what I was doing when it came to this seduction stuff. I mean, Jeffrey wasn't leaning toward me lustily or anything, despite all of the ambience I'd manufactured in the living room.

Well, okay, I realized, maybe I'm not looking too sexy in this huge pink bathrobe with the flowers on it. I remembered Jenn's suggestion—open up the trench coat and give him a little taste of what's underneath. Maybe I could do that with the robe, right? I shifted a little, subtly loosening the belt on my robe. The front fell open a teensy bit, but not enough to show any cleavage. I leaned forward, pretending to read the back of one of the movies, and loosened it a little more. Still not too wide open, but it was something.

“I love
Some Like It Hot
,” I said, scanning the back of the movie. I was kind of trying to make it sound like maybe
I
liked it hot too, but Jeffrey didn't seem to pick up on it.

“It's one of my favorites,” he said. “Totally cracks me up.”

Suddenly, Belina's advice rang through my mind—“Don't forget the physical contact!” With a jolt, I put my hand on Jeffrey's knee. His eyebrows flew up, and he stared at my hand. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Hmmm, I thought. Too much? Or too much
girl
? Either way, the response wasn't really what I'd wanted. So I played it off like I was just giving him a pat, then I cleared my throat and said, “Uh—I have a treat for you. Close your eyes, I'll be right back.”

“Okay,” Jeffrey said. He looked kind of confused, but he played along, closing his eyes as I scurried into the kitchen.

“Still closed?” I called as I poured ginseng-spiked hot chocolate into two mugs.

“Still closed,” Jeffrey confirmed.

“Good.” Quickly, I loosened my robe so that it was now fully open, exposing my entire chestal region.

Deal with these, I thought as I picked up the mugs and headed back into the living room.

“Keep them closed,” I sang as I floated toward the couch.

“Smells like chocolate,” Jeffrey said as I sat down beside him.

“Maybe it is,” I cooed as I put down one mug and held the other under his nose. “Maybe it's a special treat.” I blew on the hot chocolate to make sure it wasn't too hot. “Now open your mouth and take a sip . . .”

Eyes still closed, Jeffrey obeyed. “Mmmm,” he said as he swallowed the chocolate.

“Now open,” I told him.

He did.

I looked deeply into his blue eyes.

A moment blinked by, then another as Jeffrey looked me up and down . . . and stopped at my Intimately Pleasurable bustline. A smile played at his lips for a moment, then wavered. His eyes fluttered closed, then opened. He cleared his throat.

This is it, I thought. He's going to make a move. . . .

I leaned forward slightly. . . .

“Frannie?” he whispered.

“Yes?” I whispered back. My lips were millimeters from his. I could almost taste the chocolate on his breath.

Jeffrey swallowed hard. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

Before I even knew what was happening, Jeffrey had darted away. I heard a retching noise, then the sound of running water and the garbage disposal.

What the hell?

Oh my God, I realized, standing up from the couch. Jeffrey just barfed in my kitchen sink!

I raced into the kitchen. “Are you okay?” I asked Jeffrey, who was splashing water on his face. He was a putrid shade of green.

“I'm fine,” he croaked. “I don't know what happened. It's like some kind of allergy. . . .”

Yeah, right, I thought darkly. I handed him a dish towel and he dabbed his face with it.

Jeffrey looked up at me, apology stamped across his face. “Frannie . . .” he started.

“It's okay,” I told him quietly.

He nodded. “I think I'd better go,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Okay.”

Jeffrey folded the towel carefully and laid it over the side of the sink. The he headed for the back door. “ 'Bye,” he said, but he didn't turn around.

“ 'Bye,” I whispered, but it was lost in the noise as the door slammed closed behind him.

So there it was. I had my answer. Jeffrey was definitely gay.

I mean, okay—I guess he
could
be allergic to chocolate, I thought. But then wouldn't he have said something when he smelled it?

No, I decided. More like he's allergic to girls in negligees trying to seduce him.

My chest tightened, and I sighed. I was sad about Jeffrey—sad that he wasn't really The One after all. But in a way, I was also relieved. I mean, we'd never really had much chemistry. So at least it wasn't because it was my fault. It wasn't because I was a romance reject or because I'd blown it, as Marcus had said. It just wasn't anybody's fault. The truth was, Jeffrey and I were almost totally mismatched, and now that I knew he was gay, it all made perfect sense. Jeffrey might be The One . . . but he wasn't The One for me.

The worst part of this whole thing, I realized, is that Jeffrey will probably want to talk about this night and explain what happened. Then again, maybe not. I mean, it's not like we were boyfriend and girlfriend and needed to break up. I'd just misread him from the beginning.

My mind spun back to the night this whole mess had started.
M or F?
Jeffrey had asked. Male or female?

Marcus or Frannie?

Well, I guess now I knew the answer to that one.

Jeffrey wasn't interested in me. But he couldn't help the fact that he really liked Online Frannie. Aka, Marcus.

Wow. So . . . this night had been really humiliating. I mean, illuminating. But I guess it was worth it.