Him (Him #1)(24)

You. “Ah, I’m not picky.”

We reach the corner pub, but he doesn’t make a move to open the door. He just lingers on the sidewalk and chuckles. “Really. So you’ll just stick your dick in anyone?”

“No,” I concede. It feels so f*cking weird discussing this with him. “I’m not crazy about twinks, I guess. I don’t like the whole scrawny, young boy vibe.”

“So you like ’em big.” A broad grin fills his face as he winks at me. “So to speak.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, big’s a nice bonus. Tall, athletic, not too hairy—” That makes him snicker. “—and, I don’t know…” I start to laugh. “You seriously want to hear all this?”

His eyes flash with hurt. “Why, because you’re talking about guys instead of girls? I already told you, I’m not some uptight prude who—”

“That’s not what I meant,” I cut in hastily, and he relaxes slightly. “It’d be weird even if I was describing a chick. Like, what two guys stand around describing their perfect sexual partner?” I widen my eyes and look around. “Did we wander onto the set of Sex and the City? If so, I’m Samantha. Called it.”

The tension diffuses instantly, as Canning’s lips twitch uncontrollably. “You know actual character names from Sex and the City? Shit, if you hadn’t told me you were gay, I would’ve figured it out just now.”

“That was an extremely insensitive case of stereotyping, Jamie,” I say primly. “Just for that? You’re springing for lunch. Asshole.” But I’m grinning to myself as I flip him the bird and stride into the bar.





12





Jamie





Sunday is the day the coaches have off. Pat’s wife usually takes the kids on an outing. They’re all going fishing on East Lake tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, the coaches usually have a drunken Saturday night followed by a sleep-in on Sunday.

We’ve just eaten a six o’clock dinner with all our teenage charges, so we’re officially free. Wes has been at camp for four days now, but we’re usually too beat at night to do anything but chill in our room. So I’m going a little stir-crazy.

“What should we do tonight?” I ask Wes, who is lying on his bed. “You have a car, right? Let’s put ’er to use.”

“My car is a dude,” he says, swiping through some app.

“Of course it is. What are you doing, anyway?” The app keeps making a strange notification sound that’s unfamiliar to me.

“Checking out Brandr. Pretty entertaining in a small town.”

That shuts me up for a moment. Brandr is a gay hook-up app. I’m suddenly ornery because I just assumed we were going out tonight. Together. Maybe that was a stupid assumption, but that’s how it always was before.

“So…” I clear my throat. “How does that work?”

He chuckles. “Come here and see. It’s hysterical. All the worst traits of humanity on display in one place.”

Intrigued now, I sit down on his bed, and he props himself on an elbow to show me. We’re leaning over the phone together, the same way we did when we were teenagers. Except we haven’t been on a bed together since…well. That night. And I’m conscious of the fact that we don’t fit so well. We’re taking up most of the surface, but I’m still practically sitting on top of him. I can feel the crinkle of his leg hair brushing mine when he leans in to show me the screen.

“It’s like a menu board. Each picture is a dude.”

Some of the pictures are close-ups but some are impossible to see. There’s a number tagging each one, too. 0.7 mi. and 1.3 mi. “It tells you how close everybody is? That’s a little creepy.”

“That’s part of the fun. If someone acts creepy, you can just block them forever. One click and they’re history. The bios are the funny part. Check this out.” He taps one of the tiles and some dude’s picture fills the screen. It says: Online now, 0.9 mi away.

“He’s too old for you,” I say immediately. “And what’s with the socks?” The guy has gray hair and leans against a red convertible. He’s in decent shape, but nobody should wear socks that tall with shorts. That’s just wrong.

I won’t lie. This is weirding me out—the idea that this man is staring down at his screen somewhere on the other end of town, tapping Wes’s picture...

Wes just laughs. “Looking at Brandr in a small town is always amusing. The odds are good, but the goods are odd.” He scrolls the picture to the bottom where the guy has added his 140 characters or whatever. The headline is “Looking 2 get naked with muscles.” And below that: If I’m online then I’m lkng to get naked. Kissing, body contact & more just ask. No fems. Sorry only attracted to whites.

“What the f*ck?” I stutter.

“Sounds like a charmer, doesn’t he? That’s the internet for you.” Wes bails out of that jerk’s profile. But then his phone makes a noise and a little window pops up.

“Hey,” it says, and there’s a thumbnail of some other guy beside it.

“Someone’s talking to you,” I mutter. And now I hate this app more than I thought possible. Competing for my friend’s attention isn’t fun. So I stand up and shuck off my Elites T-shirt. I’m getting out of here tonight whether Wes comes along or not. I pull on a polo shirt, which is as dressy as a guy ever gets in Lake Placid.