It’s extortion, not adoption. Completely different relationship dynamic.
SunshineGuy
Whatever. You’re one “I bought him a little bed” away from full cat-dad status, and we both know it.
I’m grinning again. Fuck.
“You’re doing the face again,” Brocker says.
“Shut up.”
As we head down the stairs, I find myself wondering what SunshineGuy is like in real life. Does he really believe all that optimistic garbage, or is it just his online persona? Does he actually go for evening runs, and does he smile as much in person as his username suggests?
What would it be like to have someone like him to banter with in person?
CHAPTER THREE
DEVIN
Okay, so the story that just popped up on QueerWaystoFallinLove is…something.
I met my boyfriend because I got stuck under a barbell at the gym. Classic ego lift gone wrong. I’m lying there, pinned and praying no one notices, when this gorgeous guy appears above me like a fitness angel and lifts it off me like it weighs nothing. Instead of judging me, he offered to spot me properly. Then he offered to get coffee. Then dinner. That was eight months ago. He still calls me his Damsel in Distress, or just “Damsel” when he’s feeling affectionate. I’ve never lived it down, and honestly? I don’t want to.
I’m sitting in my usual spot at the coffee shop, and I can’t help grinning at my laptop screen. Damsel in Distress. That’s either the worst or best pet name I’ve ever heard, and I’ve moderated stories featuring “Snuggle Muffin” and “Love Potato.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to defend this beautiful disaster of a meet-cute from whatever cynicism TruthGuardian is about to unleash.
But he’s not online.
I have a weird sense of disappointment. He’s normally online during his lunch hour.
Maybe I scared him off last night with the cuddle talk? Maybe he’s building a spreadsheet to calculate exactly how inappropriate my flirting was. Because let’s be real—that’s what it was. Flirting. With someone whose real name I don’t even know.
I take a sip of my oat-milk latte and try to focus on theDamsel in Distressstory, but my eyes drift to the door as it chimes. And my stomach whooshes. Because there he is.
Cute Coffee Shop Guy.
He’s got the worn messenger bag slung across his shoulder. Same dark hair that I swear defies the laws of physics with how perfectly imperfect it is.
I watch him surreptitiously as he orders. I can’t hear what from here, but based on the barista’s hand movements, it’s something simple. No modifications, no special requests.
When he turns, clutching his coffee, our eyes meet for a second.
His gaze flicks from my face to my laptop to the book that I’ve been reading that’s propped beside my coffee cup.
It’s not a once-over, but it’s…something. It doesn’t reach the level of checking out, but it’s definitely more than just a casual glance.
It’s a glance with footnotes.
Breaking eye contact, he moves past me to his usual table.
My heart thumping, I pick up my book and try to get back into the story. But the words blur together because apparentlymy brain has decided that processing a cute guy’s half-look is more important than Vonnegut’s take on the apocalypse.
“Um…excuse me?”
My head snaps up so fast I probably give myself whiplash.
Cute Coffee Shop Guy is hovering by my table. Actually hovering. Like he’s not quite committed to being here, but can’t seem to leave either.
