Please enter a username. It’s the first step in the direction toward your destiny.

“My destiny, huh?”

My dick destiny?

I decide on something simple and quickly type in my selection.

TK12

Twelve, because if I’m on this stupid site for a whole month and come up with nothing, bringing my grand total up to thirteen solid months of no ass, I’m out. And, at that point, I have no idea what I’m going to do. Because I’ve exhausted all the other standard ways to meet guys. Bars. Clubs. My brother’s wedding. I’m completely out of options here. Trying to find a decent guy in Ruxton is like trying to find a virgin in a whorehouse. I’m willing to give this a go, but only for a month.

I press the arrow and the page turns, taking me to a different screen.

Welcome, TK12. Tell us a little about yourself.

I’m going to assume that putting down I’m looking to get laid by someone who isn’t a complete asshole will most likely draw undesirable attention. Besides, having sex isn’t the only thing that matters to me. If it were, I would’ve been set with Luke Asshole Evans. Fucking was the only thing he cared about during our three wasted months together. And because he was stellar at it, I tried to convince myself, and anyone that asked, that I didn’t need more than what he was giving me. Which, looking back, wasn’t much. He was private about most stuff, except his body. That he didn’t mind sharing. But personal stuff—stuff you normally share with the person you’re dating, or whatever we were doing—that stuff was off limits. After three months, I hardly knew anything about him, besides what everyone else knew.

He was a cop.

He grew up in Canton, Alabama.

And he loved raw cookie dough.

Okay, so that last fact could be taken as something personal, but I only knew that tidbit of information because he always had packs of those pre-made, break-a-part, cookie dough squares in his fridge and he snacked on them when I was around. But that’s it. The most intimate detail I knew about the man I was completely crazy about was that he didn’t mind possibly contracting salmonella poisoning. Anytime I asked about his childhood or his family, he’d distract me with sex or dodge the question. But even though he kept me at a distance, I still felt more connected to Luke than any other man I’d been with. He’d give me this look, or he’d hold me a certain way, like he was scared I was going to bolt. Like he needed me as much as I needed him. Like he actually cared.

He didn’t. He didn’t care about me. Not like I did him.

Looking back on it now, I’m glad I had the pregnancy scare with him. It made me ask the important “do you ever see yourself having a family of your own” question. Which was what I wanted. And I thought I could have had one with Luke. But he hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t seen himself having what my brother had. So I’d ended it, thinking I was pregnant but keeping him ignorant to that tiny detail. Hours later, when I’d discovered I wasn’t, I wanted to feel relief. Relief that I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. But I hadn’t. I’d wanted that baby, and I’d wanted it with Luke.

And while I’ve been celibate, not by choice, for the past twelve months, he’s been whoring it up around Ruxton, sticking his dick into anything with a pulse.

God, I hope his dick falls off. He deserves to never come again.

I rub my eyes and focus on the blank description box in the middle of my screen. It doesn’t need to be lengthy. It can be short and sweet, like me.

I’m Tessa Kelly. Twenty-four years old and living in Ruxton, Alabama. I like sex, but I want it with someone who isn’t just in it to get laid. I’m not looking for a one-night stand. If that’s you, don’t contact me.

There. Straight forward. No confusion. Oh shit. One other important detail.

If your job requires you to wear a uniform, keep moving.

I click the arrow button and the next screen pops up, prompting me to answer a few simple questions. What gender and age group am I interested in? How far am I willing to travel? I type in my answers and click the arrow.

TK12, you’re almost finished! Please describe your ideal mate.

Well, I’m not usually the type to sugar-coat anything, so why start here?

Marriage material, who would like to eventually have kids, and can fuck like a champion.

Yup. That should definitely catch someone’s attention. Hopefully the right someone. I’m sure there is a surplus of weirdoes patrolling this website for potential obsessions, but that doesn’t worry me. I can take care of myself. Just not in the way that is forcing me to create a dating profile.

Congratulations, TK12! Once you upload your profile picture, you’ll be added to our database and users will be able to contact you. Please follow the guidelines listed below for file requirements.

I minimize the window and scroll through my picture folders. I have a ton on here with files going all the way back to high school. But I need a recent photo. And my most recent ones are the pictures I took at Ben and Mia’s wedding. I hover the arrow over the folder, ready to click, when I see it.

The folder I forgot about.

I don’t want to open it. I don’t need to open it. But I do and I have no idea why. And then the photos are filling my screen. Ones of the two of us taken selfie-style, and ones that I took of him when he didn’t know it. Those were always my favorite. That comfortable look of his, so different from the look he had when he knew I was watching him. When he knew every girl was watching him. He has this cockiness that plays on his features, and when I see it, it drives me completely insane with lust. I swear to Christ, that look is directly connected to my pussy. One glance and I’m on my back, assuming the position.