Page 38 of Over Time Advantage

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.”