Page 82 of The Fed Sex Man

Tyson

Shawn leanedover the jewelry case and peered inside. After surveying the contents, he shook his head lightly and coughed out a laugh. “I’m confused.”

“About what?”

“About what’s going on.”

“With what?”

He waved his hand over the top of the display. “About this. Are you trying to piss her off, or make her happy?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“If you’re trying to make her happy, buying her a bracelet isn’t a step in the right direction. In fact, it’s a nail in your relationship’s coffin. A big one.”

It had been a month since Jo and I started seeing one another. I needed to do something to mark the achievement. Something noteworthy.

I shot him a glare. “Since when are you versed on relationships?”

“Since forever.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve never been in one.”

He folded his arms over his chest and huffed a breath of discontent. “Whenever I get in one, you can bet I won’t buy the girl a fucking bracelet. That’s a relationship no-no. At least not at the beginning. Maybe for a birthday or some shit, after you’ve been together five or six years. Not now.”

I crossed my arms and looked him over. “Where do you come up with this shit?”

“I watch a lot of reality TV.”

“Reality TV?”

“Yeah. You know. The real-life shit.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “According to reality TV, bracelets are a no-no?”

“Haven’t you seen Southern Charm?”

“Afraid not.”

“T-Rav bought Ashley a bracelet for her first gift. You should have seen the look on her face. Dude picked out a nice fuckin’ bracelet from a swanky custom shop. When she opened the box and looked inside, you would have thought he handed her steamin’ cat turd.”

“Who the fuck’s T-Rav?”

“He’s a reality TV star, and he was almost a senator. He would have been elected, but he got busted for trafficking dope.”

A drug dealing almost senator with his own television show. It was part of what was wrong with the nation. I chuckled. “And you think I should take relationship advice from this guy?”

“No. His relationship advice sucks. You should take my relationship advice.”

I looked down my nose at him. “Based on your vast relationship experience?”

“No, motherfucker,” he huffed. “Based on the look on Ashley’s face when T-Rav handed her the goddamn bracelet.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Is there something I can help you with?” a female voice asked from behind me.

I turned around. A buxom blond in her early thirties stood on the other side of the display case. Her skin was the burnt orange color reserved for those who opted to spend their idle time in a tanning booth. Dressed in a black dress with a plunging neckline, her over-baked boobs bulged from the cups of the bra that pushed them skyward.