Page 19

It’s been five days since my latest interaction with Cooper Nash, and he’s still on my mind—mostly when I’ve got my cock in my hand.

He’s driving me to the brink, and he has no idea.

I’ve had his Instagram account on my screen more times than I can count. I’ve tapped on that little message button a couple of times as well, but each time, I pussy out and close it almost as fast as I opened it.

He doesn’t want to hear from me. As far as I know, he hasn’t so much as thought of me.

I’m being pathetic—like a schoolboy with a crush on the popular guy who’s secretly hiding deep in the closet.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been in this position before. But I guess that comes with the territory of knowing who you are and what you want from an early age. I never hid the fact that I’m attracted to men. I never felt like I needed to. I was confident that my parents would understand, and quite frankly, anyone else could go fuck themselves. My family is, and always has been, the single most important thing in my life, and that will never change.

As long as I’ve got them, I don’t need anyone else to accept me.

I’ve been used as an experiment by too many guys to count—some of whom have gone on to come out, find a man, and settle down. Or, at least, so I see on social media. Others are still fighting their baser instincts and living a lie, too scared to show the world who they really are.

I get it. It’s scary. So many people have opinions on how we should live our lives, and depending on your circumstances, it can be hell on earth. I was lucky to have an amazing support network around me, but it still makes me sad to think of all those people out there who live in constant fear of people finding out that they’re not who they think they are.

“I never said it wasn’t a hook-up site. It’s all I’m interested in right now.” Although, my sister isn’t wrong. From the number of guys I’m passing on, it would seem I’m not interested in anything they have to offer either. And that’s saying a lot, because some of these guys are hot as hell.

This app is dangerous, though. Their rules are…loose, resulting in a lot of catfishing. And just because a guy shows a great set of abs or a generous package, it doesn’t mean they’re going to have any kind of personality.

While yes, I’m here for sex, I also want someone I can hold an actual conversation with. And that leads me to my account. Do I state that I’m a nerd who can talk stats for days? Hell no. That shit turns guys off faster than bad body odor. On here, I don’t spend my nights updating my hockey models and nerding out over the data. I’m a fun-loving guy who’s down for a good time that doesn’t involve a laptop or a spreadsheet.

“You should go out and meet someone in person. You know those guys on there only want one thing.”

“So do I,” I remind her as she gets up and walks to the kitchen to refill her drink.

The guys are playing in Anaheim tonight, and Calvin has gone with them, seeing as it’s only a short trip. He said that he wants to support the team, but I think it was a ploy so Sienna and I could spend some time together. Not that I’m complaining.

“Yeah, well. There’s got to be another way to find someone decent. I hate the thought of you meeting some of these guys. I mean, who posts a photo like that on an app? He clearly has nothing else going for him,” she says, suddenly appearing behind me and looking over my shoulder at the barely concealed hard penis that’s meant to draw guys in.

“It’s impressive,” I say, swiping right on him just to torment her.

“I’m not arguing that fact. I’m sure it’s great. But what are the chances it’s attached to a decent guy?”

In my experience, highly unlikely.

“I won’t know unless we start chatting. He could be your future brother-in-law.”

She scoffs.

“What about this one?” I say when my next offering pops up. “No penis in sight, just some sweet ink and killer abs.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles, returning to her seat so she’s ready for the start of the next period.

“You never know. One of these might just be my hockey player.”

She laughs but chooses not to comment on that fantasy.

I’m desperate to tell her about my rendezvous with Nash. But I made him a promise, and I fully intend to keep it.

“It says this guy is an artist,” I point out after scanning through the very limited details on his profile.

“Oh, that’s hot.”

“Is it? Aren’t all artists moody and broody?”

“What’s wrong with that? I thought moody and broody was exactly your type.”