Not So Nice Guy

by R.S. Grey

“Is she into chocolate?” What the fuck kind of question is that? Are there people walking around this planet who don’t like chocolate?

“So yeah, anyway, could you help a brother out? What kind of food does she like, what kind of music does she listen to—y’know, insider information.” Abso-fucking-lutely. “She’s a big fan of that fermented shark stuff from Iceland, and her music tastes are pretty specific, mostly polka-pop and yodeling.”

“The zoo. She adores seeing animals in cages.” She hates it. If she weren’t scared of the consequences, she’d figure out a way to set them all free.

I want to feel bad for the guy, but I don’t. You know what’s hard? Try having a crush on her for three years and then come talk to me.

The overprotective moms in attendance glare, unhappy that their motherly enthusiasm is being eclipsed by horny teachers. The referee tells them to stop disrupting and my grin is so wide, I think it’ll stay there permanently.

If we were on a kindergarten playground, I’d stand on their chubby necks and demand they leave him alone.

“I was having a tough time motivating my guys at the beginning of overtime, so I promised if they won this game, I’d dye my hair blue.”

DAD: Can you even imagine? I hope the children get her hair!!! DAD: Mom again. About the hair, your children would look good with your hair too, I would just really love a little girl who looks like Sam. A few minutes pass. DAD: Now I feel bad saying that. You’re cute too. Really. DAD: Son, it’s your father. I need my phone back. Please tell your mom you’ll call her back when you have a minute. DAD: Also, what the hell are you waiting for?

Make sure to bring your 55-gallon barrel of lube.”

“24 is a stretch. I’d say it’s only during the act, so, three, usually four hours.” She snorts. “Ooookay Casanova, let’s hope you’re keeping these mythical moist maidens properly hydrated. Jesus, I hope you offer them a Gatorade on the way out.”

Maybe I didn’t take his supposed bear fetish seriously enough. How certain am I that he donated those bags to the children’s hospital? They could be tucked away in his closet, a tiny plush pleasure shrine.

“Nicholas, this is just a dance. I’m your teacher, and while my job is trying at times, you know what’s worse than dealing with checked-out seniors who don’t care about English? Prison. Prison is worse.” There’s no deterring him. “That’s fine. I hear you loud and clear. We’ll revisit the topic when I’m legal.”

Their seduction strategy boils down to squirrel psychology: to be attractive is to be bright and shiny.

A veritable reverse harem if only Ian hadn’t bribed children to steal from me.

I’m a guy who’s in love with his best friend, a woman who seems to eat her cake but also keep it in a hermetically sealed cryopreservation tank for all eternity.

“Everyone at school wants you,” she whispers, eyes wide. “You’re mine and you don’t even know it. I’ve never told you.”

“Will this park have dark corners for doing dark deeds?”