jacks_mills_52: Why were you nervous?
PuckingSkylerShaw: I wasn’t nervous walking in. That was an exaggeration. But when I saw you, that’s when I wanted to throw up. Shit. Not like that. Seeing you didn’t make me sick. Fuck me. I got woozy because I was about to meet my favorite college football player and I didn’t want to seem like a weirdo or a fanboy or one of the puck bunnies who throw themselves at us in everytown we visit.
Okay. That tracked with everything I knew about Skyler. The gay bar thing wasn’t a consideration, but fanning out over a childhood hero was. That made sense, even if I thought it was a bit ironic, him being Skyler Shaw and all.
Either this was real, or my catfish had done impressive research involving pinhole cameras, microphones, and illegal surveillance.
That seemed unlikely.
jacks_mills_52: Hate to break it to you, but you seemed like a weirdo stalker serial killer.
jacks_mills_52: The jersey thing? Framed on your wall? That’s serial killer behavior, dude. CertifiedHow to Kill Your HusbandTV show shit right there.
PuckingSkylerShaw: I didn’t frame your jersey.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Erikexaggerated.
PuckingSkylerShaw: It’s . . . displayed. Tastefully. Your poster, on the other hand, might have a frame. A black one. It’s very manly.
jacks_mills_52: “Displayed tastefully” is not the defense you think it is.
PuckingSkylerShaw: I’m starting to regret this conversation.
jacks_mills_52: Too late. You slid into MY DMs. You’re committed now.
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. I was alone in my apartment, cackling at my phone like someone who needed professional help.
I probably did.
This washim. This was actually him.
No catfish would have this exact energy, this specific combination of defensive and self-deprecating humor. I’d talked to Skyler enough to recognize his voice, even in text form.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Give a guy a break. I’ve been on the road for two weeks, and this flight will never end. I was bored out of my mind and you were there.
jacks_mills_52: Wow. He’s a demon on the ice and with mediocre compliments that make a guy feel all shriveled from winter.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Ha ha. You’re worse than the assholes on my team. You know that, right?
jacks_mills_52: I was a football player. We have a lot more idiots in uniform than you puck boys. Trust me when I say you’ve got no game when it comes to shit-talk with a football player.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Fine. New topic. How was work tonight?
How was work?
Did Skyler Shaw actually ask, “How was your day, dear?” Okay, maybe I internalized that last part, but still . . . Was this normal “casual acquaintance” conversation over DM while he’s 30,000 feet in the air at midnight on a Friday? I was unclear of the etiquette here.
I shrugged mentally and chose to barrel forward, answering his question as though he hadn’t just air-kissed my cheeks and tossed his keys in the bowl by the front door.
jacks_mills_52: Chaotic. Some guy tried to impress his date by claiming he was a part-time astronaut.
PuckingSkylerShaw: A what? That sounds like Murph.
jacks_mills_52: Part-time astronaut. Also, a hedge fund manager. Also possibly a European duke. Oh, and he climbed Everest twice without oxygen.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Please tell me you’re joking.
jacks_mills_52: You think I could make this shit up? I’m a baller, not a writer. His date googled him mid-sentence and left through the bathroom without so much as a “thanks for the dinner.”
