Page 16 of My Brother’s Best Friend

That was a dismissal if I’d ever heard one.

“Yeah. I’ll uh—I’ll go do that.” I wanted to say more, but it would only make things worse. “See you around, Jordy.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat. “Maybe.”

The fact of the matter was that I did have a date to arrange when I got back home. Just not with a woman. Or for the dance. Or anything remotely that respectable.

No, my date would be somewhere much seedier, doing something much less savory, with someone who would probably tell me I was a lousy lay, and that he never wanted to see me again. And that was if it went well.

My stomach twisted as I opened the app I’d downloaded last night, GayBae. I’d made the barest-bones profile of all time. Called myself Quincy, with apologies to my squirrel friend, and uploaded a picture of my dick and the line, looking to hook up.

I felt gross doing it, and felt even sleazier now, logging back in as my thoughts returned to Jordan. Which didn’t make any sense. I didn’t owe him anything, nor he, me. If anything, he’d probably support me doing this. The sooner I got some experience with guys, the sooner I’d stop having inappropriate feelings for him, presumably.

Maybe it was just that my profile felt like such a front. There was a definite stereotype about the kind of person who posted a faceless dick pic, and I wasn’t that guy at all. But what was I supposed to do instead? Put my actual face out there, and a fifty-thousand-word novel about my emotional damage and virginity? I might not have any dating experience, but I knew that would scare away all but the biggest weirdos, and I was more than enough of a weirdo on my own.

I scrolled through the profiles of guys near me. Most of them were actually over on the mainland, which wasn’t surprising. Summersea wasn’t that big an island. But it looked like Deacon was right about the whole closeted dads on family vacation thing.

Somehow, though, I didn’t feel quite right about my first hookup being one where my partner was cheating on his spouse. I swiped past profile after profile of married man seeking discreet encounter, and was about ready to give up in frustration when someone new popped up on my screen: Miller.

And for the second time today, all I could think was whoa.

Miller didn’t say how old he was, but I didn’t get the sense he was the married-with-kids type. The sense that I did get was that he was hot. Looking at his pictures, every cell in my body sang a hallelujah chorus, and my cock, which had finally calmed down after seeing Jordy, woke right back up again.

Miller’s profile wasn’t a terse, one-sentence description, either. I was torn between shock and laughter as I read it. This guy couldn’t be real, could he? This had to be some sort of joke.

Except, if he was real, I felt a sort of kinship with him. Maybe it was the fact that he called himself desperate. I might not have said it in so many words, but wasn’t I looking for the same thing? And on a more practical level, if I wasn’t willing to message him, who would I ever be willing to message? There weren’t that many other options on the island.

With a deep breath, I hit the Message button below Miller’s profile and began typing.

Hey, would you maybe want to meet up? I don’t have strong opinions about anime or an unsettlingly large collection of knives, but I’m definitely a bad conversationalist, and I can look up the positions of the major arteries if that would help. More importantly, I do just want to hook up. Kind of feel like I’m applying for a job here, so I guess this is where I say please see my CV, by which I mean the picture of my cock, and if you think I might be qualified for the position, I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest convenience.

I hit send without even checking it over for typos. If I had, I would have just talked myself out of sending anything at all. I’d just finished sliding my phone back into my pocket when it buzzed.

MILLER: Consider me intrigued. Your CV is of an impressive length, and speaks to both the breadth and depth of your experience. Also, you don’t seem to be that bad a conversationalist, for what it’s worth

My breath sped up. I’d thought I would have hours, possibly days, before I had to respond again. But I couldn’t just not reply now. Miller knew I was online.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was exactly the reason I’d downloaded the app. Exactly what was supposed to happen. So why did I feel like I was about to pass out?

QUINCY: That’s just because you haven’t met me in person yet. I promise, I’m much more awkward in real life

MILLER: You really know how to sweet-talk a guy, huh?

I grimaced. I knew he was just joking, but I probably would disappoint him if we met up. Which meant I really ought to be completely honest now.

QUINCY: Also, I should probably mention this up front. Breadth and depth of my ‘experience’ aside, this would actually be my first time with a guy. So…if that changes things, I understand

Miller was quiet for a few minutes after that, and I got to experience the delightful, agonizing paralysis of not knowing which would be worse—if he told me that was a dealbreaker, or if he said it wasn’t.

MILLER: Are you serious?

I swallowed.

QUINCY: I am. I’m guessing that’s a bad thing?

MILLER: Not bad, exactly. Just different. Not to get weird on you, but are you sure you actually want to do this?

QUINCY: Honestly? No. I’m terrified, and kind of expecting to puke if we actually make plans to meet up. I’m also afraid I might not puke, but then meet up with you, and then puke when I’m there, which would make what would already be a terrible hookup for you, due to my lack of experience, even more regrettable. But at the same time, if I don’t actually do something about said lack of experience someday, it’s only going to keep getting worse. So I guess I am sure I want to do this. I’m just also scared as hell