Best Unlaid Plans

1

Ronnie

N ot even once?

Nope.

Like—nothing?

Nope.

What about heavy petting?

Heavy petting? Wendy snorted as she questioned Gladys. I haven’t heard that term since ninth grade.

Gladys’ stare narrowed at her neighbor—who was now also my neighbor. Well, they were both my neighbors for the foreseeable future, anyway.

Don’t give me that. I hear heavy petting used all the time on my daytime TV shows, Gladys snarked back and then stifled a burp.

Wendy’s shoulders bounced as she continued laughing. You have not! Nobody has said that phrase in at least thirty-five years.

I’d be laughing too—if it weren’t for the fact that I’d just majorly messed up.

Which wasn’t actually all that unusual.

When I drank, my mouth got a little—looser.

Or at least that’s what people always told me, anyway.

And why—why—now, after all this time, had I finally let one of my biggest secrets slip out? I’ll never know.

I was such an idiot.

I was also in my late-ish twenties.

Tall.

Cute in a sassy kind of way—and I totally let it go straight to my head.

I was also successful—which I accepted with as much grace as I possibly could. I loved my work.

And I was freaking fantastic at it.

So—the fact that I was absolutely—all—of these things, and I still had my v-card—well, I knew that was odd.

Therefore, I neglected to tell anyone.

As in—anyone.

Ever.

People just naturally assumed that I was—experienced.

Even though I was anything but.

Okay, okay, okay. Wendy wiped her eyes while she tried to take a breath. Then she turned to me. Gladys asked you a question, Ronnie.

The room quieted down, and suddenly the pleasant buzz I’d had going on seemed to fizzle right out.

What question? I shrugged, played dumb, and prayed for an asteroid to hit our building.

Wendy rolled her eyes. Have you ever done heavy petting?

I frowned at her and tilted my head. Is heavy petting something you do? Or have done to you? I looked over at my best friend for support.

Sloane was my best friend through marriage. Not my marriage, obviously.

She’d married my best friend in the world, and everyone knew that made us BFFs by default.

Which was all kinds of awesome because Sloane couldn’t be more fantastic if she tried. By her marrying Dominic, it instantly doubled the number of BFFs in my life.

And who could complain about having too many BFFs?

Not to mention the fact that Sloane just happened to be a kickass artist. And everyone knew that artists and designers got along perfectly.

See? We were destined to be friends.

I mean, Sloane started blushing, I’d have to say that heavy petting goes both ways?

Gladys took that moment to pipe in, Only if you’re doing it correctly. She pointed her finger at Sloane.

Wendy rolled her eyes and leveled her gaze at me. You’re avoiding the question. Spill it, we want to know.

I picked up my wine glass and leaned over to the makeshift coffee table of full boxes. I slipped my glass under the spigot of the boxed wine. Wendy had brought it over as a housewarming gift the second I stepped through my door.

And I wasn’t exactly sad about it.

Wine in any form was always welcome in my home.

Okay, so, I said as my mind raced around a bit, trying to think of what to say, I mean, technically, in the way you’re describing the terminology—

Wendy rolled her eyes and shook her head. Oh, for Pete’s sake, just answer the frigging question already, lady. Honestly, in my fifty-seven years on this earth, I’ve never met someone who avoids things the way you do.

I stopped pinching the spigot and lifted the glass to my lips. I took a quick sip and squinted my eyes at her. I met you yesterday.

Her eyebrows rose and she leaned toward me. Exactly.

Come on, lady, Wendy said and stuffed her hand inside the bag of ripple chips beside the boxed wine, tell us.

I tipped my glass back and took another fortifying sip. I stared at Wendy while she crunched loudly and realized I wasn’t going to talk my way out of this predicament.

So, I gave up and gave in. I shook my head and grabbed a few chips. No, nothing.

Gladys nearly fell off the cardboard box she was sitting on. And at her age, that might not end well. What? Are you kidding us right now?

I slipped a chip into my mouth and bit down. No.

The sound of that crunch was truly deafening in the utterly silent room.

Wow, Wendy said, still digging into the bag of chips. She looked at me like I was some kind of fascinating, rare animal at the zoo.

I could practically see the wheels turning inside of her head, trying to make sense of the odd, rare phenomena sitting in front of her.

An unlikely virgin in her late twenties.

In New York City.

Successful.

Pretty.

Smart.

But yes, still—untouched.

Is there a—reason you’ve, umm, you know, Sloane turned a darker shade of pink, abstained? she whispered the last word as though someone outside might hear.

I shrugged and took another sip. I just haven’t gotten around to it, I guess.

They all raised their eyebrows as their jaws dropped open.

Impossible, Wendy said, wiping her hands against each other, spreading the crumbs onto her lap—and my floor. You’re gorgeous. I bet men are constantly throwing themselves at your feet.

Gladys nodded and turned the box of wine around to her. She filled her glass and said, I agree. You’re hot to trot. You must have all kinds of handsome men after you.

Wendy laughed, almost choking on her wine. No one says, hot to trot anymore, Gladys. Gosh, get with the times, would you?

I bit my lip and swallowed a giggle. That was rich coming from Wendy.

She currently wore what could only be described as a colorful nylon track suit from the eighties, and bright white jogging shoes—Wendy didn’t exactly seem like an expert on up-to-date—anything.

Gladys frowned at her. They do so! she said and stuck her hand inside the chip bag. When she took her hand out, a few chips fell to their demise on the floor. I heard it today on my morning show.

To that, Wendy laughed right out loud. You did not.

While they argued about terminology, I gazed over at Sloane. She was smiling at me with glassy eyes.

This was not completely unusual.

At least not since Dominic had knocked her up.

Granted, I’d only met Sloane a time or two before that had happened—but anyway, since Sloane got pregnant, she would often just sit quietly, staring at you—or whoever else was in the room—in silent contemplation.

Sometimes, it was a little unnerving. I had to admit.

But Sloane seemed—wistful.

And peaceful.

I wasn’t sure what was going on in her mind at the moment. But whatever it was—it seemed nice.

Why are you looking at me like that? I asked, making her smile even wider at me.

I think it’s— she looked at the floor for a second before peering up at me again, I just think it’s kind of—neat.

I gave her a confused look. What do you mean? What’s neat?

She tilted her head slightly. That you’ve—held onto it for so long. I think that’s really special.

Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. It’s not like I’m saving myself or something, Sloaney. It just kind of happened. I shrugged my shoulders.

She shook her head, disagreeing. You want it to be—memorable, right? And with someone who means something to you. I think that’s really nice.

It was my turn to shake my head. No, I honestly don’t. I mean, no, I didn’t want to just—give it away. But now it’s almost— I took a deep breath, embarrassing.

Kid, Wendy said and gave me a pat on the back, no need to be embarrassed. If this is your biggest problemo in life, she grabbed more chips, well, let’s just say it’s easily fixed. Let me go change into my heels and I’ll take you out on the town. We’ll find you a hot, young, manly guy.

Wendy stood, downed the rest of her wine, and moseyed on out.

Um, do you think she’s serious? I asked Sloane and Gladys.

Gladys nodded and poured herself more wine. Oh, you bet your patootie she is.

My mouth opened wide to speak, but nothing came out. I looked at Sloane to see her laughing—or more like cackling.

Great.

I was about to go out on the town with my new neighbor, who appeared to be perpetually stuck in the eighties.

She’s going to change out of that track suit before putting on the heels, right? I asked the two women left in the room.

Gladys frowned and shook her head. Not much gets Wendy out of her track suits.

Oh, boy.

Is it too late to move again? I asked Sloane who was laughing so hard I wondered if it was safe for the babies in there.

No chance, she giggled hysterically, you’re here now and we’re never letting you go.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. My place—my other place—would take a while to renovate. But not forever.

Hopefully.

I’d lived through renovations before, and I had no problem with it.

Except there were renovations, and then there were—renovations.

And what needed to be done at my place was all structural.

Which was horrible.

It meant taking everything back down to the studs.

Which really hurt.

As in—I got a stabbing pain through my heart every time I so much as thought about it.

I’d worked my fingers to the bone to fix that brownstone up and make it look fabulous. Only to have enormous cracks and water damage show up months later—that only grew worse as time went on.

The engineers I’d hired had given me a multi-paged report, itemizing each and every repair they’d have to make.

Ugh.

It made me queasy just remembering the day Tom—my contractor—handed the papers to me. I immediately sat down on my gorgeous, Versailles inspired cream colored sofa—and wept.

I’d poured my heart and soul into that place.

And it was all for nothing.

I cried until I could barely see.

Eventually Dominic and Sloane had appeared out of nowhere, kneeling on the plush, handmade, blue/gray area rug I had shipped in from France, and they were somehow able to calm me down.

Sloane was devastated for me.

Kind of.

She was also ecstatic because there was a vacancy on the top floor of her building.

And ever since Dominic sold his place—which had been a few doors down from me—I didn’t get to see them as often.

Sloane said it was fate because now I’d have room for my side hustle.

And she was right about that, at least.

I’d been using my dark, damp basement to refinish old furniture I bought from various places.

My basement was okay, but it was no studio like I’d have here, across the hall.

That was one of the biggest reasons I agreed to move in.

Well, that and the fact this building was in a great neighborhood. And because of Dominic and Sloane, I’d been able to swoop in before it even went on the market.

But of course, the biggest reason of all that I moved in here was the fact that my besties lived right downstairs.

I wouldn’t be here forever—only until my place was fixed up and ready for me. But, if I did what Sloane suggested and, Made lemonade out of lemons, then I could spend time with my favorite people in the world while I waited patiently for my renovations to be completed.

And that wouldn’t exactly be a chore.

A loud knock sounded and made us all turn toward the door.

Come in! I shouted, hoping that whoever was there would hear and walk in. I was feeling tired from moving all of these boxes and didn’t want to get up one more time.

Hi! Mabel said as she stepped inside. She lived in the building and had been friends with Sloane for ages.

I noticed her hands weren’t empty.

Nope.

She carried two gray kittens. I figured you’d want visitation with them while Dominic’s not around. She walked over to Sloane and handed her the kittens.

Aw, you know I do, Sloane said with a huge smile on her face.

When do you think your hubby’s going to allow them back in the apartment? Mabel asked as she wandered over to a vacant cardboard box.

Ha! Gladys laughed. I’d venture a guess and say never.

Sloane shrugged and sighed. Give me some more time. He’s being really—intense about the whole thing.

Intense was one way of putting it. The second they found out that Sloane was pregnant, Dominic went into overdrive with his protective nature.

He immediately took a week off work to read through half a dozen parenting books.

He’d made notes and highlights—which he shared with Sloane on an hourly basis.

I’m sure I’ll talk him around eventually, Sloane said in an incredibly unconvincing tone. The kittens had each climbed up to her neck and snuggled in.

Gladys filled up her wine glass. There’s no way that man’s going to give in. He’s headstrong, and once men like that make up their minds— she took a large swallow of her drink, they’re done with the matter entirely. I should know—I was married to a man like that for over forty years.

I finished off my wine and set my glass down. She’s probably right. I’ve known Dominic forever, and I can’t remember a time when he ever backtracked.

Sloane played with the kittens, and I could hear them purring from here. He’s just worried, that’s all.

That was putting it mildly. Once Dominic had read that pregnant women had to take certain precautions around litter boxes—he’d put his foot down when the foster program asked Sloane to take on two kittens.

The ones she’d had before were lucky enough to find their forever homes.

When Dominic went all, No way, not happening, Sloane asked Mabel to take the kittens in until Dominic changed his mind.

I had a feeling he would never do that, but I didn’t want to dash Sloane’s hopes.

I promised him I wouldn’t go near the litter box, but he refuses to listen. She picked up one of the kittens and held her up. Your daddy thinks I’m going to catch toxoplasmosis just from playing with you.

Having Mabel foster the kittens instead was a smart idea. If Sloane couldn’t have them in their apartment, at least she could visit them at Mabel’s place.

And because Mabel lived in the same building, and she had often helped out with all of Sloane’s foster pets over the years.

I’m telling you, that man isn’t going to concede. After all, he’s already got safety covers on the outlets, Gladys added in.

This was also true.

Once Dominic arrived at the chapter on childproofing—he really went off the rails.

Now, if you could explain to me how the twins are going to electrocute themselves in utero— Gladys grabbed another handful of chips from the bag, I’d love to hear it.

Just then, there was another knock on the door and Wendy strode in—high heels, bright pink and green nylon track suit and all.

All right, let’s get a move on before all the hot guys are taken. Wendy threw her arms up. Let’s go. Time’s a wasting. She stomped toward me on those heels—and I swear she looked more like a linebacker than a woman ready to go on a manhunt.

Oh, if there are hot guys, count me in. Where’s the party? Mabel asked as she sat down.

Before I could intercept, Wendy tackled me with her words. Well, hopefully in Ronnie’s pants—if all goes as planned. Wendy waggled her eyebrows at Mabel.

Mabel tilted her head and stared right at me. You’re looking for a pants party?

Once again, Wendy’s words body checked me to the side. No, she’s looking for a pants-less party. How else is she supposed to lose her V-card?

Mabel’s stunned face answered Wendy’s question. Mabel shifted her eyes to me. You mean like a born-again virgin? I’ve heard of those. To me, once you open the shop—it’s open for business, you know? But, hey, to each their own and all that. She kind of waved me off and scooped up a red plastic cup.

Wendy took it upon herself to inform Mabel. No, she means her real, original V-card.

Mabel dropped her—luckily empty—cup. Is—are you—wow, that’s—wow, I wouldn’t have—um, she tripped and fumbled over her own words, actually, that’s really—nice.

Then Mabel stared at me with a misty, dewy-eyed look.

Oh, boy.

That’s exactly what I said, Sloane spoke up and agreed with Mabel.

There was an awkward moment of silence before Mabel whispered, Nothing wrong with saving yourself for the right person.

I let my head fall back and I let out an exasperated groan. I’m not saving myself for anyone. I’ve just been—busy.

It was Sloane’s turn to pipe in, apparently, It doesn’t really take a long time— her blush returned. I mean, there are varying lengths of—time— her cheeks were full-on red, now. It just really, you know, uh, she stammered, depends on what—or more like who—

Mabel snorted and started giggling.

And then everyone laughed.

Including me.

I couldn’t help it.

It was contagious.

Oh, my gosh, and what a relief. I’d surprised these women—especially Sloane and Mabel, who I knew better than the other two women.

When we all settled down and had a drink in our hands, I felt like I needed to explain. "Look, it’s not that I’ve been—holding onto—it." And that was no lie. Having my V-card this late into my twenties wasn’t a badge of honor to me.

To some, it might be.

And that was cool and everything.

But to me—it was just one more thing on my huge to-do list.

First, I was really busy with school and working—and then law school—and working— I took a fortifying sip of my wine, but nobody said a word.

So, I continued, And then I quit the law office because—well, reasons. Yeah, lots and lots of reasons.

But anyway.

And then starting my own business, I let out a loud exhale, that took—and is taking—a ton of time. Like every waking hour. And then some.

I took in every one of the women’s faces.

It could be the boxed wine, but they all seemed genuine to me. Like they really did care.

And honestly. I bit my lip and thought about what to say next. After you wait this long, it’s just kind of—awkward. You know? Like I’ll have to have ‘the talk’ with whoever the chosen one is. And all of that seems like a lot of embarrassment. And a lot of work. If there was an easy way to, oh, I don’t know—

Wendy interrupted me, Get in and get out?

I had to laugh at how she laid it out there. Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel. If there was a way to get in and get out, I took a deep breath, with no complications. Then I think I could get over this—hump—and get on with my life.

Mabel grinned widely. Ohh, there’s an app for that.

2

Greyson

Same old, same old every time I showed up here.

I gazed around the bar one more time—and ended up even more disappointed.

I mean, yeah, there was absolutely some talent here.

Even some I’d already tapped.

But therein lay the problem.

I always tried my best not to get too—involved. Women sometimes had trouble when I decided it was time to move on.

And let’s face it—that time would always come.

I swear to you, each and every time I met a woman—within two minutes of speaking with her—I could practically see her making wedding plans.

And picking out names for our future kids.

A cold, bone-chilling shiver ran through me.

Those were two things in life I never wanted—a wife and kids.

No, thank you.

Only idiots fell for that. In fact, that was why we were here tonight. John had been stolen away from us months ago.

He’d met Kiara in this very bar—and then we hardly ever saw him again.

His many excuses were of the—meeting the folks, family BBQ, country getaway, antique sale, rom-com movie watching, and variety.

I shivered again and took a long pull on my beer.

All of that sounded like shit.

Who in their right mind would want to do any of that?

Not me.

Ever.

Then it got worse.

The big fool got down on one knee—for all of social media to witness—and proposed.

Good Lord.

What an idiot.

Talk about stupid.

And now, on the eve of their nuptials, we all sat here like lumps on a bump.

I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have had a couple of strippers, Anthony piped in. I mean, come on. It’s your bachelor party for Christ’s sake.

I nodded in agreement.

John had eschewed any mention of strippers or any kind of adult entertainment.

Apparently, Kiara had forbidden him from having any fun.

Ever again.

Which actually meant—we were never allowed to have fun with him.

Ever again.

I told you Kiara didn’t want to start our marriage off with—that kind of thing, he said, still drinking the same rye and cola he’d been sipping on for the past hour.

Jeez.

Back in the day, John could really pound them back. But now, his fiancée insisted on a clean, healthy lifestyle.

I shivered again.

Poor bastard.

Well, it’s good no one invited her, Tyler said, and we all laughed.

John shook his head. You guys don’t understand—I don’t want strippers.

I rolled my eyes and signaled the bartender for another beer. Everyone wants strippers, John. It’s the way of the world. I patted him on the back. We all want strippers. All the time. And the fact that your fiancée has brainwashed you into thinking otherwise, I threw a few bills onto the counter and grabbed the new, cold beer, is pretty damn disturbing. I never thought you’d fall for a life like—that.

John’s face grew