Page 5 of Heartsmashed
“Yeah?”
The swirl of alcohol in my brain made thinking difficult, and I couldn’t figure out what exactly I wanted to say. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Always, little brother.”
A few moments later, the front door clicked shut behind him, and the apartment fell quiet in the way it only ever did when I was alone with my thoughts.
Not the most fun place to be lately.
I stared out at the lights of Manhattan through the open window, a whole world alive and thriving around me.
I’d never felt more alone in my life. Even Hudson had found his person, and Rome had no end in sight to the amount of people who wanted to cozy up to a movie star.
Funny, it was all I’d ever wanted, to find a love I’d dreamed about since I was a kid watching romance movies with my moms, and I was the lone man out. It was all Peter’s fault.
Fuck.Peter was coming.
The words played on repeat, echoing through my brain, unwelcome and persistent.
Why didheget to move on? How did two years together mean so little that he could move on in a handful of weeks?
Groaning, I scrubbed a hand over my face. Of course Peter was going to show up at my moms’ anniversary week looking perfectly put together on someone else’s arm while I?—
While I what?
Hosted a radio show where I told callers not to text their ex while actively thinking about mine?
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I scoffed out a laugh as I fished my phone out of my pocket. I was not going to be the ex-boyfriend moping in the corner alone.
“Don’t do it,” I muttered to myself, unlocking the screen. “Absolutely do not do it.”
But my thumbs hovered, bad decisions loomed, and I had finally run out of fucks to give.
I opened a browser.
One night a few months ago I’d had a caller tell me about a website he used to hire someone to make his ex jealous at a party. At the time I’d thoughtwho would really do that?because hello, desperate much?
If only Past Me could see Pathetic Me right now, sitting alone on my bed and wishing I could remember the name of the site he mentioned.
NYC fake boyfriend discreet,I typed, not believing those words were really staring me back in the face. But I refused to be the only guy without a date at this thing, and Peter knew my friends, so they were out.
The search results loaded, and I scrolled through, looking for anything that sounded familiar and legit. I was fine with random hookups, but that wasn’t what this situation called for. I needed a goddamn professional.
I clicked on the first few websites, but they weren’t at all what I was looking for, so I tweaked my search:professional gay fake boyfriends NYC very discreet.
Bingo. The first non-ad website that popped up was exactly what I was looking for.
If I hadn’t been drunk, I doubt I would’ve filled out the lengthy questionnaire, and I would’vedefinitelythought better about taking a picture of my driver’s license to sign up and be vetted.
But this site had a minimum income level threshold, catered to professionals and celebrities, and claimed to be very experienced andverydiscreet.
Drunk Sawyer thought that was agreatidea.
I plumped a couple pillows against the headboard and sank down onto them, phone in hand, and started scrolling. So many filters to choose from: age ranges, preferences, body type, professional experience, ratings and reviews, availability.
“Oh sweet God, you’ve officially lost it,” I told myself…even as I clicked on the next profile and read the entire damn thing.
