CHAPTER TWO
As the wind whipped more angrily through the few trees that lined the sidewalk and the last customer finally walked out, I locked the door and swung the sign over to ‘closed’. The store was a disaster. It always was after a busy open mic night, but I didn’t normally have to move tables and chairs around unless an author was in for a book signing. I took a deep breath in and stared the store down alone. I’d sent all my employees home half an hour earlier, before the howling wind turned into worse weather.
Oliver was one of the last to take the stage and, as always, left a pile of crumpled paper balls scattered around a nearby table. Living with a writer was…difficult, but at least he cleaned up after himself at home. As I picked up a chair and kicked aside some stray paper balls to sweep up later, I caught something out of the corner of my eye and froze for a moment, nearly dropping the chair in my hands as I watched a bundled figure walk slowly by the storefront.
Calm down, I thought to myself. This isn’t even a shitty part of the city. The figure was gone as quickly as it appeared. Probably just some sad commuter who missed a bus and had to shuffle through the cold. I put it out of my mind and wandered behind the counter to play some music and make the time pass faster. Plastic Stars was one of my favorite synth bands nobody seemed to know about, so I threw on a playlist and bent over to grab a cloth from a low shelf.
On the way back up, my eyes darted around, taking in the things that needed cleaning behind the counter. My eyes narrowed at a receipt that must have missed the garbage can. Tourist’s Guide to Reykjavik. I reached out to crumple it in a tight fist, stuffing it into my pocket to throw away later as I angrily swung the cloth across the countertop. Oliver had calmed me down after our talk in the back room, but some things—some people—were too frustrating to put out of mind so easily.
Luckily, I was great at revenge fantasies. If music wasn’t enough to help pass time, setting that hot stranger’s face on fire with my mind would work just as well. As I cleaned and swept and organized my way through the store, I imagined every swish of the broom as a punch to that guy’s gut. Every book put back into place was a satisfying thwack to his cut jaw, his chest, his toned abs…
No. Stop. You hate him, he’s not your type, I reminded myself. Oh, god. Maybe Oliver was right about my boy rut. I stuck out my tongue and made a gagging sound as I trudged toward the back room a couple hours later, satisfied with the work I had done before having to open again in the morning. Wanting to get home and into the warmth of my bed quickly, I rushed to throw on my jacket, stopping only to take my phone back from the speakers behind the front counter.
A few more late commuters walked past the store, and I frowned at having to join them out in the cold. At least it wouldn’t be a long wait for the bus from the nearby stop. My phone slipped from my hand as I moved to unplug it. When I caught it, I saw that I had accidentally swiped to open Knight, the popular dating app I’d started using months ago. I sneered at the screen, remembering how badly I had tanked my date with Mike—Marc?
I stared blankly at the few thumbnail photos of boys I had been matched with. It was a fresh batch of Marcs, or at least the ones looking for more than just a quick fuck-and-forget would be. I wonder if what’s-his-face uses Knight. Ugh. Not that I’d be matched with someone just looking to fool around, anyway. That isn’t what I wanted.
He isn’t what I wanted.
I stuffed my phone into a jacket pocket and grumbled my way toward the back door, throwing on my scarf and popping in some earbuds before I locked up behind me, stuffing my keys and my already-cold hand into my other jacket pocket. On my way to the bus stop, I fished around that pocket, excited to see that my timing was perfect and the bus was already approaching from down the block. Unfortunately for me, the only thing in that pocket seemed to be my keys.
My bus pass was at home, a forty-five minute walk away.
I kicked up a small flurry of dry leaves and stomped my way toward the sidewalk, eyeing the nearly empty bus as it breezed past my stop and pushed more scattered leaves onto the curb as it went.
“Just fucking great,” I muttered, turning to walk in the same direction the bus had gone.
After a teeth-chattering fifteen minutes into my unexpected walk home, I ducked into a coffee shop, wanting something warm for the rest of the way. A pretty expensive-looking car was parked outside, and I let my mind wander toward the comfort of heated seats and warm vents to escape the cold wind a little faster.
It was busier than I thought it would be for eleven at night on a Wednesday, but the line was still pretty short, and I quickly noticed a small sign by the register that told me the shop would be closing permanently in March because the owners were retiring out of the country.
“I’ll have a small decaf vanilla latte, please,” I said, smiling at the young barista.
A short wait at the bar later, I took my latte to an empty table. In the few minutes I spent waiting to order, a trickle of rain grew into a steady torrent. I didn’t feel like going back outside just yet and instead nursed my drink as I pulled my phone out to text Oliver.
Aiden: Hey. Forgot bus pass. Walking home. Weather sucks.
Olly: Gross. Good luck! Busy writing.
Of course Oliver was busy writing. It was almost all he ever did when he wasn’t making drinks and serving cakes part-time at a midtown tea room. I closed the text thread and started aimlessly browsing social media, but got bored pretty quickly. There were only so many cute coupley posts I could take after having a date walk out on me.
I couldn’t even blame the guy. I’d have walked out on me, too.
I took another look at Knight, still killing time while watching the weather. It seemed like every guy I got matched with over the last few months was some slightly different version of the same person. Smart, put-together, on track for a solid career, cute…predictable, safe, boring.
That was it. Maybe I was bored.
Maybe I was so bored that I only attracted boring people.
Oh my god, I thought frantically. What if I’m boring?
Glancing around the coffee shop, I wondered if I could match faces to profile pictures on the app. It was location-based, and there were usually a lot of guys nearby to match with, but more didn’t always mean better. I kept scrolling as I stood up, stopping when a familiar face in a profile picture caught my eye.
Speedracer88.
What a stupid screen name.
Even though his face was obscured by a huge pair of aviators in the photo and his hair was a different length, I recognized the sharpness of his features. Seeing his smirk again, even in a picture, made my face hot. I quickly closed the app and thrust my phone back into my pocket, where the back of my hand made a small crunching sound against something I hadn’t noticed before. I fished out the receipt for Tourist’s Guide to Reykjavik, my face burning up again for an entirely different reason.
I had just met this guy earlier in the night and it was a certified disaster. He hadn’t been around my bookstore before—I’d have remembered someone who looked like him—so I definitely didn’t expect to see his profile on Knight. The receipt crunched as I shoved it back into my pocket and whipped out my phone again, opening Knight to see if he was still around. Biting at my bottom lip, I scrolled until I found his profile again. Speedracer88 was still around.
Fingers cold with hesitation, I closed my eyes and took a screenshot of his profile.
If I could find him on Knight, there was a chance I could run into him again. Popping in my earbuds, I dropped my nearly untouched latte into a garbage can and bolted out the door, passing the expensive car still parked outside, and ran the rest of the way home.
Oliver was already asleep by the time I arrived, slumped over his desk on a small stack of paper. I envied him trying to make a career out of his hobby. Running Bay Window Books was amazing, and I was happy to be a moderate success. I inherited the store from the previous owner, a sweet old lady who became a close friend, when she died and left it to me in her will, but it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to spend my life doing.
Olly was writing all the time, taking out loans and working part-time to make ends meet with me while trying to earn money on his work. I didn’t know how anyone could take that kind of risk with almost no savings.
Matted from my run home in the rain, I slouched off all my clothes, leaving a trail to the bathroom. I left my phone on the counter while I ran a hot shower, glad to let the water relax me after a stressful night. It was as close as I ever got to a sauna, and I let myself think tired thoughts about vacations and massages as I enjoyed the warm cascade.
Every so often, I caught myself glancing toward my phone. I ran my fingers through wet hair to push it out of my eyes, biting my lip as I considered the spontaneous Knight screenshot. My bad date streak wasn’t going to break itself. Maybe I did need to expand my options. As I ended my shower, toweled off and brushed my teeth, I picked up my phone with my free hand, looking for the screenshot.
His profile was short and almost ego-free. Guys like him usually had profiles that read like laundry lists of normal things they didn’t want, but this one kept it simple. Derrek. Fit. 6’3”. 30. Just looking for someone who can keep up ;).
I didn’t just have a screen name. I could put a name to his face.
Derrek.
I slouched against the bathroom wall. He wasn’t nearby anymore, but he was still in my recently viewed. I scrolled through some of his other posted photos. Of course he had an obligatory shirtless pic. The sliver of skin I saw when his shirt rode up was just a taste. Derrek was hot. His smooth chest looked firm and built. I could feel myself getting hard under my towel.
Standing up straighter, I took a deep breath and snapped a few photos in the bathroom mirror. Oliver was right—I worked hard for my body, and once upon a time wasn’t so hesitant to show it off confidently. I dropped my towel lower, making sure to hide my raging boner. I furrowed my brow, letting loose a slow exhale as I covered up and walked to my bedroom, phone still in hand.
It wasn’t that I had never sent a picture of myself like that to someone. Hell, most of the pictures I got from guys showed off a lot more. Those guys were always just looking for something fun with no strings. I was on Knight to find something a little more long-term.
Maybe that’s the problem, I thought as I tossed my towel into a corner and fished through drawers for a pair of boxer-briefs, slipping them on and ducking under my covers. I was glad Oliver had turned on the heat before he fell asleep at his desk. As I lay there in the dark, I tapped a finger absently on the edge of my phone. I’d keep those pictures to myself. Instead, I typed a quick message.
AForce90: So is that how you talk to all the boys you meet in bookstores?
Plugging my phone in for the night, I settled into the comfort of my bed. My eyes had barely been closed two minutes before I heard a quiet buzz from the nightstand. He was still awake. I thought about ignoring it for the night, but curiosity—and maybe some excitement—won out. Turning to my side as I pulled my blankets up above my shoulders, I reached for my phone.
It was him.
Speedracer88: You’ll find out next time I see you at work ;)
My mouth dropped open into a surprised half-smile. Did he live nearby? Being geographically desirable had to count for something. I thumbed my phone confidently as I rolled onto my back.
AForce90: In my part of town a lot then, huh?
Speedracer88: You’ll just have to wait and see!
I closed my eyes and stifled a choked laugh. He was obviously confident in person, but Derrek lacked in the texting department. Spurred on by another small shiver, I smiled dumbly as I typed.
AForce90: Looking forward to it :) I’m Aiden. Next Friday night?
My chest was tight as the three small bubbles that meant a reply was on its way danced in place on my screen. More than once, they started and stopped and started again, until finally they stopped completely. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, deciding it was better to call it a night than wait around like a lovesick teen. Still, if he did reply, would it even be a good time?
What if I couldn’t keep up?