Jett #2
“It’s like…trimming the hedges.” He lifts his brows suggestively.
I think my chin is on the floor. “And women expect that?”
He nods. “They do. All ages. It’s no different from what we expect of them. Women keep things…clean and take care of business down there. Men should too.”
I deflate back into my chair again. “I hadn’t considered that,” I admit. “Can we start with the back? I need time to think about the rest.”
“Sure, Coach. I’ll take you to my woman. I was supposed to have an appointment this afternoon. You can have my timeslot.”
“A woman? You let a woman do it?”
He chuckles. “Yes, sir. Most aestheticians are women. They have a gentle touch.”
“There’s a name for people who wax?” I ask in complete and total shock.
“Yes, sir. There’s a science behind it, and you want someone who has been trained properly and knows exactly what they’re doing.
It’s important to get to the hair where it’s actively rooted in the follicle.
That’s called the anagen phase of hair growth, and that’s the time to get it removed.
The more sessions in which you’re able to get it at the root, the weaker the follicle gradually becomes over time.
Eventually, the hair will grow slower and finer.
Shaving only gets the hair right at the surface.
It does nothing to prevent long-term growth, and it grows back much quicker than with waxing.
I highly recommend waxing at least your back, both upper and lower.
I’ve seen it, and it’s not too hairy. It won’t hurt that much. ”
“It hurts?” I hadn’t considered that.
He shrugs. “A little bit. Especially the first time. A good aesthetician will make sure the pain is short-lived. That’s why you need the right person. My woman is great. She’ll take care of you. She’ll make sure the wax temperature is optimal for root removal and less pain.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Will…umm…will you come with me? I’m kind of embarrassed. I don’t know where to go or what shit to ask for.”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Of course. Give me thirty to hit the head and the shower, then we’ll go.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the stadium lobby when Beau, Daylen, and Champ Williamson, our running back, walk out.
My eyes widen, and Beau winces. “Sorry, Coach. I forgot to mention these two knuckleheads were coming with me. We usually do it together. We all use the same aesthetician.”
Daylen gives me a giant—and I mean giant—grin. “Coach, I hear we’re getting our balls waxed together. I’ll hold your hand if you hold mine,” he offers. “Better yet, you can sit on my lap while you get yours done.”
My lip twitches in annoyance. “Fudd, you’re running laps tomorrow. Anyone would have been better than Humblecut.”
Daylen lets out a booming laugh. Fucking guy laughs so damn loud. “Love you too, Coach. Who’s the woman? Anyone we know?”
I roll my eyes. “As if I would ever tell you. No, it’s no one you know. As if you and I would ever look for women in the same places.”
Okay, that’s not true. He knows Fallon. She was married to his agent. I’m sure their paths crossed a few times when she was married to Tanner, but I’m certainly not telling him it’s her.
“Does she have big tits?” he asks while holding his hands in a manner suggesting he’s holding large breasts.
I briefly close my eyes in disbelief that I’m having this conversation with him. “Stop objectifying women, Humblecut.”
He shrugs. “I like what I like. I told you, I love me a good motorboat session.” He does a little mock motorboating routine with his face and lips.
The man is a complete idiot.
“Coach,” Beau prods, “when was your last first date?”
I twist my lips. “Probably before you entered kindergarten,” I admit.
He nods in understanding. “I thought as much. Can I give you a little advice about dating a modern woman?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“Women like men who take a bit of control. Tell her, don’t ask her, where you’re going and what time. Order her food and drink for her. They secretly like it.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “You just order for them without asking what they want?”
He nods. “I do. It’s domineering and gives them a preview of what you’re like in bed.
Trust me, modern single women have so much going on in their lives.
They’re managing a million different things all day long.
At the end of the day, they want a man to take over all that. It’s a huge turn on for them.”
Daylen nods in agreement. “Yep. And women judge men by the first kiss. Don’t be too soft, but also not too hard. Show her who’s boss. Show her you’re the Mac Daddy of all daddies.”
I scratch my head. “There’s so much to think about. I had no idea. What if I do things wrong?” I begin to internally freak out.
Daylen pats my shoulder. “Don’t stress, Coach. It’s not that hard. Kiss her often, fuck her well, feed her snacks, and kill the damn spiders.”
I suddenly feel like I need to take notes.
“Relax,” Daylen continues before waving his hand for me to follow him. “Come on, princess, let’s get you ready for the ball.”
Fucking hell. This is turning into a nightmare.
They give me the address, and we each drive separately to a South Philly storefront that looks like the kind of place where women get their nails done. I stand out front, suddenly deciding this was a bad idea.
I’m about to turn around to leave when I see the three of them walking toward me like they don’t have a care in the world.
We walk inside, and there are, in fact, several women getting their toenails painted. What the hell kind of place is this?
Beau smiles at the unassuming receptionist. “Hi, Olga. We all have appointments with Nastya. Is she in her regular room?”
The receptionist, seemingly unaffected by four large men in a shop full of women, nods. “Yes, Beau. She’s expecting you. Head on back.”
We follow Beau toward a small hallway until he stops at a room.
He opens the door, and we walk in, all having to duck our heads to make it through the doorway.
A woman, likely in her thirties, is standing there with brown hair pulled into a very tight, smooth bun.
She’s in white pants and a white shirt. Her lips are painted bright red, and her face is expressionless.
There’s a massage table and a countertop full of supplies.
She appears to be mixing something in a crockpot-looking device.
Does she give you food while waxing you?
In heavily Russian-accented English, she asks, “Who is first?” in a monotonous tone. No pleasantries. She’s all business. I suppose that’s good.
“I know our reservation is for three people,” Beau says, “but do you have time for four?”
She nods curtly. “Bery well,” she answers robotically. “Let us get moving.”
Daylen points to me. “He’ll go first. He’s a virgin. Be gentle, Nastya. He doesn’t like it as rough as I do.” He blows her a kiss.
Nastya ignores him and looks at me. “Sit on zee table. Back and yichki, like your two friends?” she asks me.
I turn to Beau, and he grimaces. “She’s asking if you want your back and balls done.”
I pinch my eyebrows together. “She said two friends, not three. Who’s the odd man out?”
Champ raises his hand. “I get my ass done too, but I’m pretty sure you don’t need that.”
I nod in understanding. Champ is gay. I’m assuming that’s why, but I have no fucking idea how any of this waxing stuff works.
Turning to Nastya, I say, “Just my back,” as I remove my shirt and then sit on the table.
The guys all look at each other. “What am I missing?” I ask.
“Try your balls, Coach,” Beau suggests.
“I thought you said you only manscape.”
Daylen lets out a laugh. “I can’t believe you know the word manscape. Holy shit. I wish Vance was here to see this. Can I take a video for him?”
“No, asshole, you cannot,” I bark at him. “Fudd taught me about manscaping an hour ago.”
Beau nods. “I usually trim the hedges because I had them waxed for years, and now it doesn’t grow in as full. I don’t always need the full waxing anymore, but I started with it. I highly recommend it if you’ve never before…dealt with the area.”
Daylen nods in agreement. “It also makes your junk look bigger.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “My junk is plenty big. It doesn’t need help.” I turn to Beau and look at him in question. I’ll do whatever he tells me to. I trust him.
He sighs. “Nastya, back and yichki, please. It’s for the best, Coach. Trust me.”
Forty-five minutes later, they’re practically carrying me out of there because I’ve never experienced more pain in my life, and three-hundred-pound linemen used to tackle me every day.
Daylen hasn’t stopped laughing the entire hour.
Every single time I screamed like a little girl, which was with every pull of the wax, he nearly peed his pants.
Even Beau and Champ couldn’t contain their laughter at times.
Through my tears and despite my sore back and painfully throbbing balls, I mumble, “Nastya is a Russian spy in charge of torturing US citizens. I’m convinced of it.”
The three of them only laugh that much harder.
They help me into my car, spouting all kinds of dating advice. There was something about a three-day rule. You can’t call or text a woman for three days after a date. To apply only a drop of aftershave, not a lot. Don’t talk about your ex. Don’t love bomb, as if I know what that means.
My head is spinning. What have I gotten myself into?