I met a Grindr date at The Fruitbowl. I never give my address out to potential dates, and I don’t go to guys’ houses, either. I’ve listened to enough true crime podcasts to know that I —a scrawny excuse for a grown man— wouldn’t stand a chance if one of the guys on the app turns out to be a psychopath or serial killer. So, I only ever meet them in public places, on the few occasions I meet anyone at all.
It’s been my experience that most guys on Grindr are looking for a hookup, not a relationship, so half the time, I’m ghosted in the chat.
I can’t imagine how much faster they’d run away if I told them I’m a virgin.
When you’re in your late teens or early twenties, it’s cute. When you’re staring down thirty, guys start thinking there’s something wrong with you.
But it just never happened for me. I was the only out gay guy in high school, so I was a social pariah at best and a punching bag at worst. In college, I worked hard to keep my scholarship, so I didn’t really party or date much, and the guys I did date? Well, there wasn’t really any spark there.
Don’t get me wrong: I get horny. I dowantto have sex. I just…want it to be more than purely physical when I do.
That’swhat’s wrong with me. My last attempt at dating —before meeting up with Scott last night— ended with the guy saying that if he’d wanted to date a woman, he would have. Yeah, that…was not a fun conversation.
But it was still better than last night.I hang my head in my hands and groan as wakefulness finally clears the cobwebs.
Scott didn’t actuallydoanything to me, but the way he turned all Hulk-y when I refused to blow him in that stall…
I shudder.
It was only his shock when I’d shoved him that had made him step backward far enough that I could close the stall door on him as the panic had set in. I remember texting Sylvia, my BFF, to rescue me, and then Kenneth Tyler walked in, acting like he owned the whole club.
Come to think of it, with how freaking wealthy the man is, it’s possible that he does.
Butwhywas he there at all last night? And how did he know that I was the one cowering inside the gross stall?
I climb out of the incredibly comfortable bed and step socked feet out into a fancy-looking hallway.
Seriously, it’s like I’m staying in one of those premium hotel suites. The pristine white walls are lined with art and tall side tables holding vases that are probably worth more than myentire studio apartment. The floor is polished wood of some kind, light and golden, and it makes the whole place feel almost coastal, even though I know we’re in the city.
The next door belongs to a bathroom, and I scurry in to empty my bladder and wash my face. My reflection looks kind of greasy and sickly, like I drank too much and didn’t get anywhere near enough sleep. I eye the shower longingly, but force myself to leave the bathroom without availing myself of what is probably amazing water pressure, because I still don’t know exactly where I am or, more importantly, why.
I’m glad to find my phone is still in my pocket, and even more relieved to discover that there’s still twenty-seven percent battery left when I wake up the screen. Then I see the twelve missed calls and barrage of unread messages from my best friend, and my heart plummets to my stomach.
My thumb is hovering over the text alerts when a throat clears, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. I fumble with the device in my hands and then wince as it clatters on the floor.
“Shit,” my dad’s best friend says, “sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine.” I avoid looking at him, focusing instead on bending to pick my phone up from the floor. Its case and screen protector have done their job, and it’s still in one piece. I slide it into my pocket and finally force myself to look at the man who rescued me last night. I feel my skin burning with an allover blush as I take him in. He’s every bit as handsome as I remember — tall, toned, and perfectly groomed. The cause of half of my teenage self’s wet dreams. Okay, more than half. “Hi, Kenneth.”
“Cody.” He offers me a crooked smile, the kind that has given me butterflies my whole life, and he tilts his head. “Come join me for breakfast. You still like pancakes with bacon?”
I’m equal parts thrilled that he’s remembered the preference, and also disappointed because that was my favorite breakfastwhen I was twelve. He probably still sees me as that same little kid. Nevertheless, I nod. “Yeah, though my usual is an egg white and spinach omelet these days.”
He glances over his shoulder, radiating a suaveness I can never hope to replicate, and arches an eyebrow. “Really?”
I shrug. “It’s not as easy to stay in shape as when I was a kid.”
Smooth,I curse myself, only barely able to stop myself from cringing.Remind the hot-as-fuck silver fox that you were a kid the last time he saw you.
And Kenneth Tyler really is a silver fox. The last time I saw him, his dark hair was only beginning to streak with gray. Now, it’s more silver than it is brown, but it only makes his cheekbones seem more distinguished, and his steely eyes somehow even more intense.
He’s wearing a gray polo shirt neatly tucked in to black jeans that look like they’re molded to his long legs, and I wonder just how much time he spends working out. He’s my dad’s age, but where Dad has given in to a beer belly and thinning hair, Kenneth looks like he’s never been fitter or hotter.
“You’re not serious.” His smooth, cultured voice interrupts my appraisal, and I frown, trying to remember what I said to prompt such a reply. He waves his hand, gesturing from my socked toes to my bed-mussed hair, “You said you’re trying to stay in shape. You’re too thin as it is.”
My lips turn down into a frown. “I’m not too thin. I’m naturally wiry. But if I don’t eat right, I start getting all…” I mime my belly bulging and he snorts.
I’m proud of myself for eliciting such an inelegant sound from him.
