CHAPTER 1
RHYS
“Oh, come on, Rhys, do it,”Tyler teased.
Tyler, my roommate, was the only person outside of my family who called me by my actual first name, a side effect of being a professional rugby player. Everyone else—teammates, coaches, the press—called me by my last name, Dawie.
Rugby was a popular enough sport in other parts of the world, but the Major League Rugby association in the States was still pretty small. Austin was their newest expansion team, and I’d been their first recruit because I’d led the Longhorn rugby team to the national championship two years ago.
If you’re wondering how a big, corn-fed Texas boy ended up with such an impossibly Welsh name, it’s because I was named after my grandfather.
Between my stuttering, my Texas accent, and the way my Welsh relatives sounded like they were gargling rocks while talking, language for me was basically always going to be a disaster.
“Alfie said it was a really damn good app and that it worked for him,” Tyler insisted.
“What you’re saying is thatthe one other gay manyou know got very, very lucky on one of these horrid dating apps.”
Tyler blushes but remains persistent. “To be fair, I may be saying that, but I don’t think the app is horrid. Alfie said it’s created by queer people for queer people, so I don’t think it would be totally awful. For instance, if you say you want a serious relationship, you won’t get matched with some fuckboy who’s all like, ‘Send me nudes.’”
“Oh, is that in the marketing?” I asked, stripping off my T-shirt.“No fuckboys, guaranteed.”
“Dude, look at you. You’re one of those mountain men. One of those bears or whatever the gays like to call your type.”
I looked down at myself and sighed. Rugby practice had kicked my ass, and I was a hairy, sweaty mess. I’d showered in the locker room but got sweaty all over again on the drive home since the AC in my car was on the fritz. Not that it’d ever worked all that well to begin with.
Professional rugby in American didn’t pay that much.
“Let’s ignore my belly for a moment. It looks like I have boobs.” I smacked my pecs to make them jiggle
Taylor throws up his hands. “I’m telling you—some guys are really into that.”
“Oh, is that according to, again, your one other gay friend?”
He scrunches his nose. “Perhaps.”
“Great. Now, let’s say they’re into a little extra…”
“Cushion for the pushin’?” Tyler grinned, clearly begging for a dental plan.
Not that I’d actually hit him. I wasn’t feral. I mean, sure, I played rugby—but I made a point not to flatten the smaller guys. On purpose, anyway.
“That is such a… Never mind, Ty. Even if the guy’s okay with me physically, there’s the whole thing that happens when I get nervous.”
“Oh, you mean the stuttering? Do you even really do that anymore? I never hear you stuttering.”
“That’s because you’re like a brother to me, Ty. Of course I don’t stutter around you.”
His brows meet in the middle. “But didn’t you take, like, years of speech therapy? You said that you have all these tricks for keeping it under control.”
I’d always complained to him that I couldn’t stand it when I could tell someone wasn’t paying attention, or if they were getting impatient with my stutter. Tyler was like family because he was the best fucking listener on the planet. Unfortunately, that also meant he rememberedeverything.
“Yes, but when I’m nervous—and I will be fucking nervous as hell on a first date—none of my tricks are going to work. The stutter is going to be out there for my date to see.”
Ty took my Gigantor mits in his regular-sized hands and looked me in the eye.
“First of all, I think you’re worried about the wrong thing. Stuttering over a couple of words here and there doesn’t mean anything. The real problem is if your date is a dick about it. Then, boom. You already know he’s not the one. Sounds like a feature, not a bug.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you just call my stutter a feature? Are you fucking kidding me?”
