What He's Been Missing Read Free Page B

males thrive on this female confidence. It’s what attracts them most. So, twisting through the crowd of men in the lobby at the hotel in my killer red heels, the sugary-sweet positive angel on my left shoulder thought, “Confidence, confidence, confidence,” but the what-the-hell-were-you-thinking-walking-out-of-the-house-in-hooker-shoes devil on my right shoulder backed that up with, “Did he just turn his back when he saw me?” and “Oh . . . was that a smile? I knew these shoes were working! Maybe I should go over and say hello. . . . Oh . . . That wasn’t a smile. Maybe he has gas.” Managing my neurosis somewhere in the middle, in my mind I winked and lingered at the smiling brother a bit, but in reality my nerves sent me rushing to the receptionist so I could get the number to Scarlet’s party suite.
    â€œBig night, huh?” I said after giving the woman behind the desk Ian’s last name and turning back to drink in the brothers as she looked at her computer.
    â€œLeftovers from last night,” she said. “It’s a fraternity. They had a ball.”
    â€œReally? Wish I had an invitation,” I joked, remembering my disaster on the living room couch. Certainly, one of these men could’ve used my services. “It’s not every day that you get to see so many fine brothers in one place like this.” I saw two of the men greet one another with a fraternity handshake. Their linked-up arms were so muscular and strong it sent tickles up my spine. Lord, it had been so long since I’d felt a touch like that. “Dang,” I started, turning back to the receptionist, who looked a little less impressed than me. “I love fraternity men. Maybe I should call some of my girlfriends down here. You think they’ll be here all night?”
    â€œProbably,” she said flatly. “But don’t bother calling your girls.”
    â€œWhy? What?” I spied the dazzling menfolk once more and then turned back to the receptionist. “What? Oh no. Don’t tell me. They’re gay! It’s Atlanta! I should’ve known,” I discerned aloud. In my voice there was a mix of surprise and acknowledgement with a dash of quick understanding. Suddenly, in my mind anyway, I could explain why I’d gotten no cat calls during my stiletto-clad cat walk through a sea of men. Of course no one wanted to holler at me! They’re all gay!
    â€œNo, they’re not gay,” the receptionist said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNot gay. They’re not gay. They’re transgendered.”
    â€œTrans-what?”.
    â€œTransgendered.” She nodded toward the group, signaling for me to get another peek. “Those fraternity boys used to be sorority girls.”
    As Grammy Annie-Lou would say, my mouth was picking up flies. That’s country people speak for: it was wide open as the landscape before me redeveloped into a new reality.
    Armed with the party room number, I’m sure my face was painted in colors called shock red and crimson awe as I made my way back halfway through the strange promenade to get to the elevators. All those muscular arms, perfect jawlines, tight bums in designer suits, the delicious opus of masculine energy was . . . a group of women turned men? I traded my previous saunter for a humble creep. I couldn’t care less if no one looked at me now. Wait . . . they weren’t checking for me either. . . .
    Â 
    Ian opened the door before I could knock.
    â€œI thought you were coming earlier,” he barked in a tight-jawed whisper.
    â€œUmm . . . can I get a hello first?”
    Ian was just as I had left him. All height and all muscle. He was six feet nine and so naturally in shape I never once heard him mention going to anyone’s gym. When we’d met during orientation freshman year at Florida A&M, I was sure he was a basketball player—I think the team even tried to recruit him—but Ian