The Aristocrat

“Well, I have a number of prospects I’ve been keeping my eye on, and I certainly can’t guarantee they’ll be able to wait around forever.”

Prospects. My mother’s term for women qualified to marry me based on their prestigious backgrounds.

There were two requirements of a member of the privileged upper class: Don’t do anything to shame your family, and marry within your pedigree. While I’d never agreed to anything formally, deep down, I knew if I didn’t marry someone my parents approved of, they’d make that person’s life a living nightmare. And I didn’t want that for anyone. So, I’d always hoped I’d miraculously fall in love with someone who happened to be acceptable in their eyes. It was hard enough connecting with someone, but to have the playing field whittled down to a mere handful of people deemed suitable made it nearly impossible to find true chemistry.

“Well, Mother, I’m not returning any earlier than summer’s end, so losing opportunities with the boring women you’ve selected for me is a risk I’ll have to take.”

“Boring? Hardly.”

“Has it ever worked out when you’ve chosen someone for me before?”

She paused. “I’m trying to help.”

“Exactly. Look…I appreciate your efforts, but—”

“Whatever you do, make sure the shenanigans you’re up to out there don’t land you in irreversible trouble. Don’t dip your pen in the wrong ink, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I haven’t dipped my pen in a while, so no worries, and when I do, I’m careful.”

“You’d better be,” she warned.

Unlike my cousin, I’d only slept with one woman on this trip. She was someone I’d met in a bar when we were in L.A., and while there was physical attraction, there was nothing special about it. When I was younger, I’d been perfectly fine with meaningless encounters. But at twenty-eight, I found myself needing to be intellectually stimulated, as well as sexually aroused. That combination was hard to come by.

“I’ll let you get going, Mum.”

“Well, this was a quick conversation. But I suppose I should count myself lucky that you called in the first place.”

“Give Dad a hug for me.”

“Kiss that nephew of mine, too. What is Sigmund up to tonight?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

“Likely not.”

“Bye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

As the evening wore on, I found myself unable to shake what had happened earlier. It was rare that someone captivated me the way Felicity had. And her rejection was a bit of a blow to my ego.

I had the lights off in the living room as I sat on the couch and looked out toward the moon over the bay. I grabbed my laptop off the coffee table and typed:

Felicity Dunleavy - Harvard

A link to a video popped up as the first result of my search. It was titled Harvard Polar Plunge: Nutsack.

Well, that certainly had my attention.

It was some kind of event for charity where people took off their clothes in the middle of winter and jumped into freezing cold water.

Curious as to why it had come up, I pressed play. Several men and women emerged from a choppy ocean. It only took a few seconds before I spotted her. Felicity wore a red, one-piece swimsuit, and rubbed her hands over her freckled arms as she shivered. Her long hair was wet and stuck to her body.

A voice from behind a microphone asked, “How do you feel?”

Felicity’s teeth chattered. “How do you think I feel? I’m freezing my nutsack off!” Then her eyes widened in a panic. “Wait, am I live on TV?”

The camera immediately cut back to two television personalities at a news desk who were trying to compose themselves. One of them snorted before straightening her papers and thanking the reporter for the story.

And then the video ended.

I read the description under the title.

Harvard student Felicity Dunleavy proclaiming, “I’m freezing my nutsack off” on a local Boston TV station after the college’s Polar Plunge charity event. The original video went viral with almost ten-million hits.

This particular version of the clip had seventy-five thousand views.

I spent the next several minutes re-watching it, and each time was funnier than the last. My favorite part was the shocked expression on her adorable face when she realized she’d just said nutsack on live television.

It was too bad she wanted nothing to do with me, because this video made me want to hang out with her again. I shook my head, forcing myself to close the laptop. I eventually nodded off, counting freckles in my head instead of sheep.

A week later, I’d somehow let my cousin convince me to go on a double date at a local bistro. No part of me wanted to go out with someone I’d never met before, but I had been a bit of a recluse since arriving in Narragansett and figured it would do me good to at least get out of the house.