“Ow!” Val suddenly bends over at the waist.
“You okay?” Winnie and I turn toward her with concern.
“I think my ovary just exploded.”
It’s Winnie, not me, who shoves Val. “Don’t let yourself get sucked in. That one especially looks like total heartbreak material.”
“Gorgeous heartbreak material,” Val sighs.
This time, Winnie doesn’t even argue. And when I catch Pat grinning at me, I totally know what Val means.
Four Underrated Parts Of The Male Physique
by Birdie Graham
While popular culture screams from the rooftop about men’s butts, abs, and even forearms, there are some gorgeous parts of men that need to have their day in the sun. This is a strictly PG-13 kind of list, folks, and (mostly) safe for family reading.
Caveat #1: Most of these features can be appreciated at different levels of fitness and hairiness, to taste.
Caveat #2: Objectification is not good! This list focuses on appreciating physical attributes, but we should all appreciate people as whole humans, not just for their looks.
And now, let’s get to appreciating!
Four Underrated Parts of The Male Physique
The ankle. Ladies’ ankles were at one time a scandal (and still are in some cultures), but men’s ankles shouldn’t be overlooked. Delicate but strong, there is just something magnetic about this meeting of foot and leg.
The side of the ribs. Not sure what I’m talking about? Watch a shirtless man reach above his head. The muscles are more subtle and way less look at me! than the abdominals. But still very, very wonderful.
The nape of the neck. Sometimes people just refer to this as a nape, which freaks me out. Napes need to be attached to necks, thank you very much. Whether your man has long or short hair, there is something totally sexy about the place where hair ends and the soft, bare skin of the neck begins.
The lower back. So much time is spent ogling abs that we’ve missed the flip side, and it is a thing of beauty riding on top of that waistband.
Stay tuned for Part Two—Four Underrated Parts of the Female Physique!
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lindy
Before Pat, on a typical night, Jo and I would hang out in the family room with her reading and me doing a little writing or research. After Pat, all the relaxation and chill has been sucked out of our nighttime routine. Chill is impossible with a restless—and let’s not forget, completely HOT—man in the house.
Pat has an aversion to stillness, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. I’m pretty sure having no television is pushing the man to his limits. Even as I’m thinking about his restlessness, Pat shifts, sighing and wiggling as he scrolls through something on his phone. Is it bad I like to watch him squirm? And every time he shifts, I shift, because this couch is woefully small for two people, especially when one of them is Pat’s size.
My poor, little house feels like a shirt we’ve grown out of. Pat towers in every room and fills every doorway. And though I know it’s small and Pat is a big guy, I can almost feel the intention in each touch, however quick. We can’t pass each other in the hall or even in a room without some physical contact. Like when his fingers brush mine as we pass in the kitchen or when his hip lightly bumps mine in the upstairs hallway.
Each tiny touch is like a reminder: Hey! I’m here! Hey! You can’t resist me forever!
I should remind him of the rule about necessary touching, but … I don’t.
What I did do was order a television for him. It feels like such a small thing—literally, it’s a modest 36-inch TV, all I can afford—but the idea of giving Pat a gift makes me feel strangely vulnerable. It’s silly to feel nervous about such a little gift. Pat gives so freely, so constantly, like he’s a stream pouring down an endless supply of fresh mountain water.
Me? I’m a rusty spigot that’s hard to turn. But I’m trying to loosen up without feeling like I’m totally losing control.
I glance down at my laptop, which is open to a page about narwhals, and slam it shut. Even the unicorn of the sea can’t hold my attention tonight. Not with the warmth of Pat’s body so close to mine and my thoughts a thorny tangle.
“What do you think about this one, Jojo?” Pat asks, turning his phone screen toward her.
It takes Jo a moment to climb out of whatever book she’s fallen into. Her eyes light up almost immediately. “I love it.”
“What are y’all looking at?” I ask, tilting the phone screen toward me and then going still when I see what’s on it.
Hairstyles. Pat is searching up hairstyles for Jo. I’d tell my heart to be still, but it’s no use. I’m pretty sure my heart has already vacated my chest cavity and is lying prostrate before Pat, crying, Take me! Take me! I’m yours!
Inwardly, I’m a weeping, wilting mess. Outwardly, I keep my voice steady as I say, “I like that one. It would look cute on you. I could always try it.”
Jo tilts her head. “You want to wear double braids like that?”
“No, I mean I could try doing that to your hair.”
She goes back to her book, and I try not to be offended when she says, “That’s okay. Patty will do it. He’s better at it than you.”
Well, then. I raise my eyes at Pat, who looks like he’s about to burst out laughing. “No need to rub it in. Where’d you get your beauty school certificate?”
Pat takes his phone back and gives me a crooked grin. “My brothers and I used to take turns doing Harper’s hair.”
That mental image is almost too much. Could the man be any more irresistible? It’s like he’s completely composed of the human equivalent of catnip. What would that even be called—man-nip? Ew. That sounds way too nipply. We’ll stick to the human version of catnip. And Pat is practically leaking it from his pores.