“Not that she’s mentioned to you,” Alex grumbles and slams his locker closed. “What’s her favorite color?”

“I like her in purple.”

“No, dickweed, not your favorite color on her, her favorite color. What color does she like the most?”

When she’s the one picking the lingerie for the evening, she tends to go for dark and dangerous, even though she’s anything but. “Black or silver, I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, Westinghouse, if there was a boyfriend test, you’d be failing like a motherfucker,” Randy laughs.

“Why?”

“Because you and Charlene have been together for two years, and you don’t even know what her favorite color is. Think about the clothes she wears when you’re with her—the color of her purse, her favorite mug, her goddamn fucking shoes,” Alex snaps.

“Oh. Yellow?”

“Why are you asking me? Is it or isn’t it yellow?” Alex asks.

“I think it’s yellow. Or maybe it’s peach. I could ask her.” I pull up her contact on my phone, but Alex smacks my hand.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t ask her.” Alex angrily thumb-types a message on his own phone.

“Are you asking Charlene?”

He gives me a look. “No, I’m asking my wife because she’s your girlfriend’s best friend, and girls know this kind of stuff about each other.”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense. What’s Violet’s favorite color?”

“Red, most of the time.” His phone buzzes. “Yellow is the correct answer for Charlene, so what you need to do is buy her some yellow flowers.” He thumb-types another question as he speaks, and Violet answers right away. “She also likes mint and chocolate-covered candied ginger, so I’d get her some of that, too. Then go over to your girlfriend’s house and make sure she’s okay. All of your friends saw her naked yesterday, surrounded by a bunch of whacked-out sex toys. She might need some emotional support that extends beyond last night.”

“I can do that. I can buy her flowers and chocolate and provide her with emotional support if she needs it.”

Alex rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t know whether to pat you on the back or punch you in the face.”

I’m not sure which I deserve more at the moment.

DARREN

I drop Alex off at his place. Before he gets out, he programs a flower shop into my GPS. “You don’t have to get all yellow flowers.”

“What?”

“The flowers—when you buy them for Charlene, they don’t all have to be yellow. And, stay away from yellow roses. They mean friendship.”

“How do you know this?”

“Google.”

“Maybe you should come with me.”

Alex claps me on the shoulder. “You can buy flowers for your girlfriend, Darren. Just tell the sales girl what you’re looking for, and she’ll be able to help you out.”

“So tell her my girlfriend’s favorite color is yellow?”

“And that you want to convey you like her for more than her ability to be a jizz depository.” I’m not sure what my expression must be, but he tacks on. “Don’t say that last part to the sales girl.”

“I’m relationship-stunted, not a social idiot.”

“Just making sure. There’s a Godiva store down the street. You’ll be able to get everything you need. And under no circumstances are you to stop at a lingerie store.”

“But—”

“No buts. Do not buy her something you plan to take off her body. You need to show Charlene that you think about her beyond just sex.”

“But I’d like to have sex with her tonight. We have away games.”

Alex punches me in the shoulder. “Christ, Darren, how the hell have we been friends this long and I had no idea you were this relationship challenged?”

I roll my shoulder. “Because I’ve never had an actual girlfriend before Charlene.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. Usually there’s an NDA and lot of rules.”

“Because of the freaky sex shit?”

“No, because I’m trying to protect myself and them from all the media bullshit.”

“Did Charlene sign an NDA?”

“No. She promised we would keep our sex life private.” I wanted to date her more than I needed an NDA.

“Look, I don’t care what your sex life looks like. I mean, thanks to Charlene I’ve gained Area 51 access. It’s limited, but more than Violet would probably allow otherwise.”

“You have what?”

Alex waves me off. “Never mind. I’m just saying, as long as it’s consensual and everyone’s enjoying themselves, I don’t give a shit what you two do. But if you want to take this relationship to the next level, and I’m pretty sure you do, then you need to make it clear it’s not limited to orgasms. So let Charlene initiate.”

“She only does that when she’s wearing leather.”

Alex blows out a breath. “I did not need that information. I’m getting out of the car. Go buy your girlfriend some flowers and chocolate.”

“Okay.” I pop the trunk as he gets out of the car. “Alex?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Helping me.”

“All you need to do is ask, Darren.”

I wait until he’s closed the trunk before I follow the directions to the flower shop. The girl helps me pick flowers for Charlene, which is something I decide I’m going to do more often. Flowers are a lot like lingerie, full of beauty in different forms and textures. Some are lacy, silky, frilly, soft and pale, dark and heavy. It takes me nearly an hour before I have a complete bouquet, which costs almost as much as lingerie and contains everything from purple night lilies to yellow dahlias with petals that look like the tips have been dipped in red ink.

I stop at the Godiva store and fight the urge to browse the lingerie shop next to that. Alex is right. Buying lingerie for Charlene will give the message that I would like sex. Which is true. However, as soon as I choose lingerie for Charlene, she also believes I’m choosing how things will happen in the bedroom. Sometimes it’s fun, but I would like to avoid that tonight.

I fire off a text to Charlene before I get in my car, but she doesn’t respond right away, so I drive over, hoping I’m right and she’ll be home. I can leave the presents for her if she’s not, but it defeats the purpose.

My palms are sweaty as I pull in to her driveway. Her car is here, which means she should be home. Christ, I’m nervous, which is ridiculous considering I’m just bringing her flowers and chocolate. It’s not like I’m asking her to marry me.

I contemplate that, the idea of marriage. Would I marry Charlene? The institution as a whole doesn’t mean much to me. It’s one’s actions that dictate devotion. Words mean nothing if there’s no conviction behind them.

Do I think Charlene would want to marry me? I don’t know. But I’m not here to ask Charlene to marry me. I’m here to show her that I can be a normalish boyfriend. I can be thoughtful and buy her unnecessary and frivolous things.

It’s with that in mind that I get out of the car, bouquet and chocolate in hand. I check my phone before I slip it in my pocket, noting that she still hasn’t responded to my messages from earlier.

Her front walk is lined with pretty flowers in a variety of colors, but yellow seems to dominate, along with some purple and white, so the ones I’ve chosen should go over well. I hope.

Maybe she’s in the bath. That would be nice. I like Charlene fresh from the bath. She’ll be relaxed. I could let myself in since I have a key, but I rarely come to Charlene. My house is more convenient, and my bedroom is much better equipped for sex and sleepovers. And since I’m surprising her, I figure it’s a good idea to knock and wait to be let in, setting a precedent and all.

Charlene opens the door the requisite three inches the chain latch allows. Her hazel eye widens. “Darren? What’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” Her hand flutters to her throat.

Hmm. I expected a slightly different reaction. “Can I come in? Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“What? Oh! No. Yes, I mean. You can come in. Just a sec.” The door closes and the sound of the latch disengaging follows. A few seconds later she opens it again and steps back to allow me inside.

“This is a surprise.” She pulls at the bottom of her shirt with one hand and pats her hair again with the other.

“That was my intention.”

I look her over. She’s wearing a pair of teal leggings covered in a donut print and a pale purple tank with a donut on the front holding a cup of coffee. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her face is free of makeup. She’s not wearing socks. Her toes are naked apart from the big one on the right foot, which is painted the same shade of purple as her tank. I don’t believe she’s wearing a bra based on her perky nipples.

Her gaze darts down where my hands are tucked behind my back in an attempt to conceal the massive bouquet of flowers and the box of chocolates. Actually, there are two boxes of chocolates since ginger chocolate and mint chocolate should be separated, according to the lady who assisted me.

I reveal the bouquet of flowers first.