The Junior Playboy and His Trusty Sidekick

Wishing to avoid the fake glad-handing from distant relatives he neither knew or cared about, Fletcher took the back stairway down to the first floor. There he found himself encountering a stream of catering staff as they rushed to provide refreshments and hors d'oeuvres for the surprisingly large number of early arrivals. Having spent time earlier to meet and greet his staff for the night, the young lodge owner's appearance brought some good-natured catcalls.

"Looking good, bossman," complimented one of the potheads/cooks.

"Ooh, you do clean up nicely for a jerk," half-joked a busty, blonde college student — one who graduated two years prior from Azure Rocks High.

"When does the baccarat game start?" inquired a gorgeous brunette with blond highlights in her hair.

Coming to a halt, Fletcher eyed up his favorite waitress from Goforth's, dressed in the standard white blouse and black, pencil skirt. "Hiya, doll. It's going to start just as soon as I have you on my arm as a good luck charm. Or we can skip out of this shindig, and you can make my dreams come true on a beach in the Caribbean."

"Oh, Fletch," the smokeshow giggled, shushing him away. "You better get out there. The shirttail relatives are getting restless."

Her boss for the night opted instead to watch her swaying ass in the tight skirt while she returned to the kitchen. His kitchen. The teenager remembered to call it, the description still sounding odd to hear coming from his own tongue.

Moving down the back hallway, Fletcher pictured how his favorite waitress's sexy body would look naked and in front of him. He envisioned her on her hands and knees, that phenomenal ass waiting for his cock to slid between her cheeks. Turning the corner, his eyes came upon another ass sticking out as its owner bent over, slyly watching as guests arrived through the main entrance. Only this ass didn't invoke any thoughts of sexual play, but instead fun teasing of another sort.

"A double agent? I would have never expected it from you of all people, Miss Moneypenny," he remarked, making his voice deeper than normal.

The girl spying on the arriving guests jumped up, startled to find someone had snuck up behind. Spinning around, Grace Smith's guilty face turned to annoyance as she recognized who spoke.

"Wynwick. Fletcher Wynwick," he stated, giving his best James Bond impression as he stood up straighter. His hands motioning to draw attention to the white tuxedo jacket he wore.

"Don't do that!" she said, slapping his arm. "I thought you were one of our relatives."

Fletcher took a second to admire his best friend's outfit for the night. His purely platonic assessment perked up in slight surprise at the white, spaghetti-strapped dress she wore. A thin, light garment, it showed a hint of cleavage on the top and ended right above her knees at the bottom. All in all, far more skin than she usually showed

"And you're even in disguise! What foul villain has corrupted my once loyal, trusted companion?"

Looking up toward the ceiling, Grace rolled her eyes as his antics. Can't he be serious for one night? This is an important event for him and his mother!

"Ah, it's my mistake. I should have known that you would someday betray me. It's in your nature...and your hair." The glare Grace shot Fletch could have melted an iceberg. "Never trust a woman that dyes her hair."

"Fletch!" she shrieked, slapping his arm and chest, while worriedly checking to see if anyone overheard him. Suddenly, she stopped and played it cool. "I don't have the foggiest idea of what you're talking about."

Smiling to himself, Fletcher shook his head at the odd quirk of his closest, dearest friend. Obsessed with earning perfect grades and getting taken seriously as an intelligent girl, Grace freaked out when, in her early teens, her light, sandy brown hair began to lighten up. At first, she wrote it off as getting too much sun that summer--Fletcher's fault, she said--but that excuse didn't last long. As the leaves changed colors in the fall and then the first frost hit, Grace eventually admitted her hair was turning more a dirty blonde like her mother's.

Insanely worried that people wouldn't take her intellect and opinions seriously, Grace embarked on a scheme to slowly dye her hair a shade darker every month. Fletcher once found the small notebook detailing her elaborate plans. Over a two-year period, she worked to darken her hair by the slightest amount until she now sported dark-brown locks that matcher her father's. Having to deal with his family's strange genetic trait of extraordinarily early graying, and his cousin Sienna's terror over it, Fletcher couldn't understand why it was such a big deal. Still, he loved Grace with all his heart, so he kept her most closely held secret, albeit with a once or twice a year tease to remind her that he knew.

"So, what's with the dress?" he asked, knowing that she desperately wanted to change the subject from her hair.

"Your mom bought it. Said she wanted to do something special for me," Grace replied with a shrug. "Better than the thing my mom wanted me to wear."

"Ah, that's how she's making herself feel better for using you as her spy," Fletcher nodded knowingly.

"Your mom's not using me! I offered to help...wait, how did you know?"

"Of course, you did, and I saw your text that Aunt Sela arrived," he agreed, knowing that Grace preferred spending time with his mother rather than her own. "So, tell me, Agent Smith, what's going down?"

"What's going down is that you need to get out there and start greeting your guests," she stated. "You're the host, so start acting like one!"

"Aw, but I don't even know most of these people," Fletcher whined, sounding like a teenager complaining to a parent.

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on the petite brunette's face. Pulling out her phone from who knows where in her dress, Grace punched in her password, bringing up a view on the screen that her best friend honestly didn't expect to see. It was some old man in his sixties or seventies with a face that looked to resemble his Uncle Myles but wasn't.

"I created a database of all possible guests tonight; it's based on the invitations that were sent out, and who might accompany them as their plus ones."

"You did what?!"

"I created a database--" Grace began to repeat at a much slower pace until he cut her off.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that part, but why and how?"

"Well, you need to know who you're talking to tonight. Fletch, this is a very important night for both you and your mother. It could affect both of your futures," the brunette stressed. "And I know you suck at knowing who your distant relatives are even before adding in the ones that haven't been to Azure Rocks in decades or ever."

"I don't suck, I just don't care," he pointed out. "How did you even put it together?"

"I used social media for the younger ones, plus Sienna helped with any questions I had and offered some solid suggestions. And your mother provided the data for the older generations."

"Wait, how does Sienna know anything? She's about as bad as me!"

"Sienna might look down on them or not care like you, but she understands the importance of knowing who's who. Something you need to get into that thick skull of yours, and soon," Grace declared, giving Fletcher that you-know-I'm-right-look that he hated.

"Fine, I'll try."

"Now, I set up a facial recognition software, so all I need to do is take a quick picture of the person here tonight, and it will bring up the data I inputted."

"Jesus! Facial recognition?" the teenager exclaimed.

"Yes, is there a problem?" the geeky girl asked, bewildered by his reaction.

Sighing, Fletch knew this to be another of those quirks that separated his friend from most people in life. "No, no, it's great, Grace. I appreciate all the hard work you put in," he thanked her also with a fond kiss to her forehead. "But we really need to find you a boyfriend or at least get you laid."

"Um, thank you, and I don't understand," she answered in order to his two statements.

"Yeah, I know you don't," he replied with a grimace. "Okay, Number Two, show me how this works."

"Number Two?"

"You know, like in Star Trek. Your phone's like one of those things they always carry around."

"You mean a tricorder. And it's Number One, not Number Two," Grace explained. "I thought you hated Star Trek?"

"That I do. So I guess I need to use a better nickname for your duties tonight. How about Artoo?"

"As in R2-D2? I think not!"

"Too late. You're the one that reminded me of my distaste for the other one, so it's settled, Artoo," Fletcher declared, earning him a staredown with his best friend. One she eventually gave up on.

"We don't have time for this childish stuff, Fletch. You need to take tonight seriously," Grace said as she began to bore him by describing how her database worked.

---

"Of course, I absolutely have heard wonderful things about Mountain Falls. I can't believe I haven't visited your side of the family's ski resort since I was little," Fletcher faked interest while listening to a distant cousin go on and on about skiing and snowboarding. Fortunately for him, Grace moved in to fake remind him that he needed to meet another relative.

"Gawd, I can't put up with much more of this," he complained, once they were away from the chatterbox.

"You've only been doing it for barely fifteen minutes."

"That's all?! Fuck me."

"I hope your mother gets down here soon, you're hopeless at the this," Grace said, glancing around for any sign of Fiona or her sister, Sela.

"What's up with that bunch over by the fireplace? They've been standing around in groups of two or three, eyeing me up," he asked, still standing in the grand foyer outside the parlor, refusing to enter any of the larger rooms with all the guests.

"Those would be the Canadian branch of the Wynwicks," Grace announced, already having used her phone to check on the identity of several of the people that her best friend motioned to. "They do seem to be giving you dirty looks. Perhaps you should just go over there and get it over with now."

"I guess a gloating should be in order for winning the lodge from their branch, but they look ready to lynch me. What? Oh, shit! Right the library. Oops," Fletch remarked after Grace's shocked glared caused him to remember the library's gruesome past. "I probably should keep in mind all the killings that took place--wait, use that phone of yours to scan those two suspicious-looking characters by the door to the library."

Happy that Fletcher seemed to be interested in her work, Grace slyly turned, bringing up her camera to take a picture. "Which ones? I don't see--Fletch! My database is not a toy!" she whined as she saw the two people--two friends--that he meant.

"Do not tell me you entered them into that thing of yours?" Fletcher said with a laugh, already moving toward the two people in question. "Come on, you know they haven't said like five words between them. If that's not suspicious behavior, then what is."

Grace watched as Wesley March took a small stuffed mushroom from a waiter's plate, put it into his mouth, instantly blanching at the taste. Looking around, he tried to hide spitting the food into a napkin, failing miserably as people walked by. Milling around at his side was Rylee Kittle, another friend of theirs. Rylee never spoke, while Wesley struggled to talk to girls--even friends like Rylee--which meant they stood around awkwardly silent.

"Hey, I paid good money for that, March!" Fletcher called out, causing the teen to redden in embarrassment. "Just kidding. My mom picked those ones out. They look terrible."

"Hi, Fletch," Wesley greeted him, while Rylee nodded in his direction. "Lots of people here already."

"Way too many. Who show's up this early? Old people do, that's who," Fletch answered his own question. "Looking pretty good, Wes."

"Uh, thanks. Yeah, it just fit," the slightly overweight teen admitted, then immediately looked embarrassed for the admission. Probably Fletcher's second closest friend, the reddish-brown-haired teen took a lot of **** growing up from his classmates. They picked on his small weight issue, his eyeglasses, and his red hair. People often were surprised to find out that an outgoing, popular, and at times arrogant teen like Fletch would be close friends with Grace and Wesley. But Fletcher believed strongly in loyalty and showed it to his oldest friends. "You look almost James Bond-like."

"Yep, I heard that already. I needed to make sure my mother didn't outshine me."

"Hi, Rylee, that's a cute dress," Grace complimented her friend's honey-colored sundress. "Did Sienna pick it out?"

Blushing, Rylee shook her head no, surprising her friends. Sienna often dictated what her best friend should wear for important events. The haughty teen felt that she knew style, while everyone else foolishly didn't. Although, she often showed a softer side toward her best friend. A petite girl with golden blonde hair, Rylee could be painfully shy, almost frightened to speak to others. Just like her cousin and his choice for best friends, people were shocked to learn that Sienna Thirlby, the ice queen with the biting tongue, could have the quiet, modest girl as her closest friend in life.

"Good for you, Ryls. That cousin of mine needs to hear the word no from time to time," Fletcher said, putting his arm around her shoulder. Leaning over, he softly asked into her ear, "I bet she's pissed, right?"

The tiny wallflower nodded.

"Real pissed, I bet. That's great to hear," the teenage lodge owner joyfully remarked. "I expected her to be jealous over all the attention I'm getting tonight. Serves her right to be put in her place at times."

"Is Reece here?" Grace asked her friend about her older brother. Fletch shot her a knowing look, which caused the brunette to blush slightly. Nearly every girl they knew had some level of a crush on the handsome Reece Kittle.

"Flu," his sister softly revealed.

"That's too bad to hear but great for all those ladies that couldn't decide between the two of us tonight," the party host responded; his friends not sure if it was a joke or a serious statement.

"Hi, everyone! Can a get a picture for The Busy Bear?" inquired a short, petite brunette with long, wavy locks hanging down. A reporter for their school newspaper, Alice Phillips, grinned at her classmates, her green eyes already scanning for the perfect spot to take their picture. Normally, Alice wasn't a girl on Fletcher's radar, but he took in her styled hair for the night, and her cute beige dress, one that seemed to highlight the medium-sized breasts and round ass that he never noticed before.

"Look sharp, people; the media has arrived," cracked the dark-haired teen with graying temples.

"H-Hi, Alice," a nervous Wesley stuttered. "Doesn't Jake usually take the pictures?"

"Yes, he does, but he caught that flu," she replied about her boyfriend and photographer for the school paper and yearbook. "Victoria's here as a guest, so I'm not entirely alone."

"And I wouldn't think a lovely, young Lois Lane like yourself would ever be alone for long," Fletcher remarked, turning on his charm.

Wesley watched in horror as his friend began to flirt with the girl he held a small crush on. Fortunately for him, Alice was all business, and Grace elbowed her best friend, telling him to knock it off with only a glare.

Marshaling the four friends together, Alice lugged a large, old-fashioned camera out to take a picture. The school paper had a limited budget, and Jake swore film to be superior to digital. Snapping off a quick picture, Alice frowned in thought.

"How about we try taking one near more light? I'm not quite sure if that was enough for this old camera," she admitted, blushing.

"Um, Alice," Wes started, after working up the courage to walk toward her. "On these cameras, you need to flick that switch to turn on the flash."

"Oh! I guess I forgot that part. I'll probably end up using my phone later, but Jake insisted I use his camera."

"Still, I think your idea is a good one," Fletcher said, offering a suggestion. "How about we go into the library for some natural light?"

"That would be great. And thanks for the invitation."

"Of course, I want our classmates that are here to remember this night. And for those not..." Fletcher trailed off as he noticed Wesley's jaw hanging down. Slowly turning around, he saw most of his guests staring in the same direction as his friend.

Fiona Wynwick stood near the top of the grand staircase. Knowing every eye watched, she gracefully descended the steps like an old Hollywood starlet. Her son smirked as he noted she wore the strapless, sliver dress he picked out. Although, she draped a gray satin shawl over her shoulders, entwined down her upper arms, to add a little more cover. Still, her prominent bust couldn't hide nor could her smooth leg, peaking out of the long slit.

Waiting a few steps behind his gorgeous mother, stood an equally attractive blonde. Fiona's older sister, Sela Thirlby, wore a dark green, trumpet gown. Hugging her body in all the right places, it flared out mid-thigh. Besides, highlighting her curvy ass, a deep plunge in the front drew attention to her ample breasts. Most guests would assume she watched her younger sister climb down before her with sisterly love, but Fletch could tell by her expression that his aunt fumed with jealousy.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Fiona added a little extra swing to her hips as she walked toward her son. Kissing both of his cheeks, she leaned over to whisper into his ear.

"You were right about the dress, darling. Sela's ready to blow a gasket."