What Is It About?

What Is It About...

There are those amongst us who believe that groveling is contrary to the nature of the alpha male.

I call bullshit and Nicole Jacquelyn, author of the The Aces series, agrees—

“If a hero won’t apologize like his life depends on it when it’s necessary – that doesn’t mean he’s too alpha. . . it means he’s an asshole.”

There are few things in this world that make my sadistic little heart sing like a well-executed grovel. Y’all feel free to psychoanalyze that at your leisure. I blame my fascination on my relatively early introduction to the world of romance via the historicals of Jane Feather, Diana Palmer and Judith McNaught. I quickly became enraptured with assholes, rakes and rogues and their various attempts to make amends for their frequently atrocious behavior. I cut my romance eyeteeth on Almost Heaven’s Ian Thornton and The Accidental Bride’s Cato Granville, men who are as alpha as they come and still capable of the sweetest, most endearing apologies. The heroes of historical romance certainly set the bar high, and I’ve been a complete sucker for a good grovel ever since.

I’ll also point out my fondness for groveling is a natural extension of my predilection for strong, self-assured women. There is little worse, in my estimation, than a doormat heroine. I’ll take a ball-busting bitch any day of the week over a woman who allows herself to be steamrolled by some asshole hero. A certain sparkly vampire loving teen comes to mind here, as does a certain doe-eyed lover of fucked up billionaires. . . Does it take a stronger woman to forgive? Certainly. I’d just prefer said forgiveness occur after a suitable apology involving actual words and some semblance of apologetic behavior.

At this point, I believe some clarification is probably in order. According to good ole Merriam-Webster, groveling is loosely defined as kneeling or crawling on the ground to regain favor. Is it my expectation that a man prostrate himself before his ladylove, begging her forgiveness for staring at another woman’s ass in her presence or forgetting the anniversary of their first date? Absolutely not. I do believe, however, that there are circumstances for which I’m sorry just ain’t gonna cut it and groveling becomes necessary. For our purposes, let’s consider groveling a strongly-worded apology accompanied by properly contritious behavior.

I think we’ll agree, ladies, that there’s a difference between I forgot to put the seat down and I slipped and my dick fell into ole girl’s hooha. Some puppy dog eyes and a sweet kiss might get him out of trouble for my lady parts coming in contact with eau de toilette, but God ain’t made a man (and I doubt there’s one in the pipes) who’s eloquent enough to string together the right words to make me forgive cheating.

But Lord. . . Lord, do I love for them to try.

Because every now and again, when it’s done exactly right, all the stars align and the irredeemable is redeemed, the unforgiveable is forgiven and an asshole becomes a hero you could fall in love with. That, ladies, is the magic.

Mt. Redemption isn’t scaled with ease, folks. As a matter of fact, depending on the degree of her crazy and the severity of his fuck-up, it can be downright perilous, fraught with Louisville sluggers, busted car windows and a deluge of feminine tears. Regrettably few heroes attempt the climb and even fewer will reach the summit, either unwilling or unable to navigate the treacherous terrain. In my quest to ease the suffering of asshole heroes everywhere, I’ve come up with a map of sorts—a guide, if you will, on how to grovel correctly.

  1. God made man verbal for a reason. Use. Your. Words.

Love means never having to say you’re sorry.

That, ladies, is a smorgasbord of shit.

It’s really not rocket science. If you’re wrong, dammit, say you’re wrong. You see, women are all about the words. If you can melt our hearts with an offhand I-love-you, imagine what you can do with a well placed I’m-sorry. I don’t care how the fellas in Kristen Ashley-World operate—babe is not a verb and it is certainly not a fucking apology. I’m eyeballing you, Benito Bianchi.

You want my forgiveness? Ask. For. It. Pride goeth before the fall, motherfucker.

  1. Actions really do speak louder than words.

Yes, I realize I’m talking outta both sides of my mouth, but I do recognize that there are men in this world completely fucking incapable of uttering those two magic little words. There’s also times when those little words ain’t magical enough and apologizing becomes less about tell and more about show. When you fuck up like a boss, fellas, be prepared to man up and crawl.

I’m kidding—mostly. A little time on the old knees ain’t never hurt anyone. Just ask Lieutenant Derek Tyler.

  1. Time heals all wounds.

In the words of Mark Twain, anger is an acid that does more damage to the vessel in which it’s stored than anything it’s poured on….

But. . .

In the words of the Dixie Chicks, I’m not ready to make nice.

While I strongly discourage holding grudges (why allow anyone to live rent-free in your head?), I can appreciate that sometimes a cut goes so deep that only time can mend it. Yes, a wound will surely fester if you don’t deal with it—but a pot will also boil over if you don’t remove the heat. Nothing like a little space to slow it down to a simmer and give you perspective.

Drake Stevenson screwed up, owned it and gave his woman seven months and almost three-thousand miles to get over the pain he caused her. Remember, gentlemen, you fucked up–be prepared to wait it out.

While they are few and far between, a number of heroes have successfully climbed out of the holes they managed to dig for themselves. Let’s give it up, ladies, for the fellas who groveled correctly.

Nikki’s Grovel List Part 1



Don’t be disappointed, ladies, if you don’t see your favorite on the list. Please note that this is part one of a multi-part series. Surprisingly, I had a great deal to say on the topic.

Kisses Nikki

TV Recap: Sons Of Anarchy episode 7.8 – The Separation Of Crows


As the concluding episodes of the final season quickly approach, Jax’s demeanor continues to get broodier and oh so very sexy. Last night I could have jumped into my television screen and given him a hug but before I wax poetic on the sexy appeal of Jax Teller, let’s get to recapping last night’s episode.


If you recall in the earlier seasons of SOA, Jax spent several reflective days and nights on the rooftop of the garage’s compound; often the ideal spot for moments of much needed solitude. It’s here we find Jax at the top of the hour as he reflects on how he underestimated August Mark’s capture of his club member Bobby.

Watching the trailer for this week’s episode I expected a lot of plot points to come to a head but much to my dismay and I’m sure I’m not the only one that feels this way, things do not progress very much further but get more complicated and less clear as to how the rest of the episodes will eventually play out. If I had to take a guess; all club members will end up dying in the pending show down, Gemma will eventually be overcome with grief and die from a drug overdose of some sort, while Wendy, Nero and the kids drive into the sunset and settle on a ranch and live happily ever after. Don’t tell me you don’t see the closeness developing between Wendy and Nero. Something will come of it; at least that is my speculation for the moment.

In past weeks, Kurt Sutter’s has placed the spotlight on Abel and how the death of Tara is starting to take a toll on him. At this point we have witnessed five-year old Abel handling a knife, displaying aggressive behaviour, drawing disturbing pictures and this week, we are told he whacks a kid in his class with a metal lunch box; all in the name of not liking the kid. If that doesn’t smell like the development of a troubled child to you, colour me stupid. Come to think of it, could Abel be the one that dishes out Gemma’s just desserts. Remember folks Gemma must die!

Can I just say, I love when Juice plays the cocky motherfucker over his mooping-depressed role that has dominated his character for the better part of this season. As Juice follows through with plans to handle Lin in jail, Unser becomes wiser to his motives and starts to patch the pieces of the MC club’s puzzle while focusing his speculation on the GemJu collaboration (my made up word for Gemma and Juice).

While Jax’s focus is on locating Bobby’s whereabouts, the club members push him to locate the rat that may have informed Lin and his clan of the MC’s involvement to take down the Chinese. The club consults an old bounty hunter ally, the husband of Bobby’s ex-wife to help connect some of the missing dots. As a result the club members discover a connection, which leads to Jury; chapter president of the MC club in Indian Hills. An arranged meet-up in the desert results in some uncomfortable reflective moments between Jury and Jax, with Jury taking a bullet in the head at the hands of quick-fingered-Jax. How the repercussions of that action plays out in the grand scheme is unknown but let’s just add it to all the other shit storms brewing in SOA.

As hours in the day start to run out, Jax has no choice but to offer Moses Cartwright (Head of Security for August Marks) something in exchange for Bobby’s release or another piece of Bobby will be delivered to the clubhouse. Obviously a grave mistake on Jax’s part as Cartwright makes it clear that the terms of the contract are non-negotiable. All they are willing to settle for are the body of the dead pastor and the pastor’s wife and son delivered to August Marks.

In other SOA happenings, Gemma arrives at her home only to find it vandalized and a threatening message to the MC club scratched on the wall and her pet crows chopped up into bird sushi and left under the bed covers for that dramatic effect.

With less than six episodes left to the grand series finale, does anyone have an inkling as to how this will end? You know it will change again next week, so don’t even bother guessing.

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