Fuck’s sake. Depressed, I fed her, and left her to it. My last stop was Morrissey, a bearded dragon I’d had since I’d been a teenager, but even his general hooliganism wasn’t enough to cheer me up. “Sorry, boy.” I tore lettuce into his bowl. “We can go walkabout tomorrow.”
I locked him up and turned off the lights in the back room. On my way out, the diary caught my eye, and the fuckhot city boy who’d visited the shop just before closing time instantly filled my mind. Sharp as sin in his designer suit, I’d assumed him some kind of cut-throat salesman, but I’d regretted my judgement the moment he’d opened his mouth. Perhaps he was a salesman, but any bloke who was prepared to walk into a reptile shop for their kid when it was clearly the last place on earth they’d be comfortable, was okay in my book.
Hadn’t stopped me doing my best to freak him out, though. I pictured Isha Hussain’s face when I’d let a tiny leopard gecko run too close to his elegant hands, and laughed out loud. That shit was worth getting out of bed for, any day of the week.
Not that I’d be leaving the bed if Isha Hussain was in it. For a suit guy, the bloke was a walking wet dream. Smooth brown skin, velvet voice, and perfect teeth. There hadn’t been any need to show him the reptiles I’d have for his son’s birthday party, but I’d done it anyway, just to stare at him a little while longer. Hot dudes were few and far between in Thorston, and Isha Hussain was in a league of his own.
I went home, which involved a ten second walk across the road. The only animal I kept at my house was Frances the parrot, but she was asleep, her head tucked under her wing, so I tiptoed past and trudged upstairs for a shower, probably the last thing I’d do before I knocked out for the night.
You sad fuck. It was Thursday night, and Fridays were the only day of the week I didn’t have to be at the shop by dawn, but I was tired, and pissed off, and not even the semi I was sporting from my suit-themed daydreams was enough to inspire me to do anything more than shower and fall asleep.
Or so I thought.
Naked, and still dripping water, I padded across my bedroom and took my meds. My phone was where I’d left it, tossed on my bed, and blinking with a notification. Assuming it to be an email I probably wouldn’t read, I gave the screen a cursory glance as I unlocked the phone. The Grindr logo caught me off guard. As a rule, I hated hook up sites, but sometimes a sordid, anonymous fuck was exactly what I needed, especially when I lived in a village where everyone knew everyone. Most of the queer men I knew in Thorston, I’d either fucked already, or I couldn’t stand them.
I couldn’t stand more than I’d fucked.
Curious, I opened the app. Most messages I got were dick pics, or requests for dick pics, so I wasn’t getting my hopes up, but I couldn’t deny that even the faint prospect of some genuine sexy talk stirred my blood. I tapped the message, expecting a photo, or a one word sentence that somehow still managed to have shit grammar.
stacked81:Hey, I like your profile pic. A lot. We’re within ten miles of each other. Shoot me a message if you want to hook up.
Well, that was a new one; an offer of a meet without swapping junk pics. I had to admit I was intrigued, though. I tapped the dude’s profile avi. It didn’t give much away, crossed arms, raised high enough to hide the man’s face. I understood that—I never showed my own face—and found myself drawn to the broad shoulders beyond the man’s strong forearms. They were such a perfect shape—I had a thing about individual body parts. I wasn’t attracted to any one more than another, but I’d always been a sucker for shoulders.
And, damn, stacked81 had good fucking shoulders. Good grammar too. My thumb hovered over the reply button, but logistics made me hesitate. Grindr’s version of ten miles could mean anything, I didn’t have a car, and I generally didn’t bring hook ups into my house.
Fuck it.
I sent a message digging for more deets. There was no reply for a while, and the dude had gone offline. I assumed he’d got a better offer until my phone pinged about three seconds after I’d given up on the idea of getting laid.
stacked81:I’m in the Hilton off Junction 15. Can accommodate if you want to swing by.
It was a risk, faceless hook ups always were, but the thrill of it got under my skin. I deliberated only a moment before I messaged him back.
dragon89:Sounds good to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I caught a cab out of Thorston. It would cost me a score to get to the motorway junction and back, but I was horny enough not to give a fuck. I fired a text to a mate to let them know I was heading out, then put the darker side of Grindr to the back of my mind.
The Hilton was nestled at the back of a brand new retail park. I got the cab to drop me by the pub next door, and messaged stacked81 to tell him I was outside.
stacked81:room 101
I rolled my eyes. Seriously? I wasn’t down with that room number becoming the punchline to a Grindr horror story one day.
Still, I’d have no stories at all if I spent my life hovering in hotel car parks. I braced myself and headed inside, taking the stairs to the first floor. Room 101 was at the end of the corridor. I suppressed the urge to run my hands through my hair, and knocked.
The door opened, swinging slowly back like a fucked-up game show. I drew my gaze up from my phone, taking in undone jeans hanging off trim hips, and a fucking glorious brown torso, until I found myself face to face with…
Isha Hussain.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I blinked hard, as though I expected to come to my senses and find myself on my couch, dick in hand, having some kind of out-of-body porno dream, but before I could react, strong hands grabbed me and yanked me into the room.
The door slammed. Isha threw me against it, dark eyes fierce. “What the fuck are you doing here? This some kind of set-up?”
I rubbed my elbow. “Um, no? I came for a Grindr hook up, and I have zero idea why you’re here to fuck up my day.”
Isha ripped his phone from his back pocket. He opened Grindr and shoved it in my face. “This is you?”
