I’m sure plenty of people going through divorces and breakups do this. What do I have to lose if I download an app and it doesn’t work out? Honestly, nothing, other than maybe my time. And if anything, it could serve as an interesting distraction from my real life. Remembering what Remi said, I look upHivein the search bar. It pops up right away, and my heart jumps to my throat. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, my finger hovers over the download button for a moment until the devil on my shoulder wins my internal battle.
It’ll be fine.
There’s no harm in looking. If I hate it, I can always delete the whole thing and pretend it never happened. It doesn’thave to be this big thing that I’m making it out to be in my head. Once the app fully downloads, I open it and start setting up a profile. The number of questions I have to answer is alarming. Age, height, body type, what I’m looking for, marital status, do I have any kids or pets, my profession, hobbies. The list goes on and on, and unless I want news of me on this app to spread like wildfire through my small, nosy town—and the entire firehouse—I can’t truthfully answer over half of these. Answering what I can and leaving the rest blank, I move to the next page, where I’m prompted to upload pictures. Scrolling through my photo album, I quickly realize I don’t have a single decent picture of myself that Trent isn’t in.
Well, shit.
I suppose I could not put a picture up at all.
But, realistically speaking, who’s out there matching with a faceless profile? Isn’t that the whole point of this type of thing? Not putting one up would defeat the purpose. Or at the very least, make whatever options I could have a lot slimmer. No, I have to putsomething, but that means either using one that has my husband in it or taking one right now. I don’t love either option, but the latter seems like the better choice.
I could always wait until my next shift and have Remi take a few for me, but I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, I know myself well enough; if I wait, I’ll find a way to talk myself out of it.
No. Fuck that.I’ll figure this out myself.
Tossing the covers off my body, I roll out of bed and pad into the bathroom. There’s no reason to overthink this, especially when there’s a good chance I’ll wake up tomorrow, more sober than I am now, and delete the app anyway. After I flip on the light switch and nearly go blind from the sudden brightness,I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection for a moment.
I may not be in my twenties anymore—or even my thirties, for that matter—and the hair on my head, beard, and chest may be sprinkled with more gray these days, but I’d like to think I look good for my age. Objectively speaking, I’m an attractive man. My job keeps me active and in shape, but I also make it a point to hit the gym at least a few times a week or go for a run on days when the weather isn’t unbearably hot. And if what Remi said is true, people go for older guys.
Deciding to not overthink any more about it, I snap a few shots, keeping my face out of view. With each one, I feel more awkward than the last. Once I have a solid handful, I scroll through them and find a couple that work. After uploading them, I switch off the light and walk back into the Captain’s Bunk, climbing into bed again as I tap the button to complete my profile, then see who I’ve got waiting for me.
The first person I’m shown isFreddyXOXO,an attractive man with dark hair and a nice, bright smile. Reading through his bio, I quickly realize this isn’t off to a good start.“Not looking for a relationship! I’m in need of a strong man to help me install flooring at my new place! Can provide pizza, beer, and other fun forms of compensation.”He ends the bio with a winking emoji, an eggplant emoji, and a water drop emoji.
No, thank you.
I’m all for lending a helping hand, but that’s not really what I have in mind.
LookingForOurUnicornis the next profile. The bio states they’re a happily married couple looking to add a third to spice things up.
Absolutely not.Nothing against threesomes or open marriages, but it’s not for me. Sitting at oh for two, I decide tocheck out one last profile before calling it a night. Maybe I’ll have better luck in the daytime.
Swiping left on the married couple, my mouth dries when the next profile comes up.KnockinBootsis twenty-eight.Eh,a little young for my liking, but I suppose not a total deal-breaker either. The first picture is strictly an ab shot; no face or anything, but as I scroll to the next one, my stomach bottoms out, and I drop the phone like a hot potato when I recognize the face staring back at me.
Fuck.
After a minute, I grab the phone again and scroll through the rest of them, just to be sure. Leave it to me to find somebody I know right away. Right as I’m about to swipe left onKnockinBootsbecause—obviously—I’m not interested in climbing into bed with my lieutenant’s best friend, something has me pausing. His pictures are…interesting, to say the least. His bio is witty, which isn’t a surprise, and his pictures are…hot. Hollis lives and works on his family’s cattle ranch, so there’s some of him with the cows or in front of the barn. There’s even one of him on a tractor, with a caption quoting that classic Kenny Chesney song.
For some reason, I can’t stop staring at the last picture on his profile. Standing in the middle of what looks like an empty pasture, droplets of sweat drip down his chest that’s sprinkled with a light smattering of dark hair extending across the center of his chiseled six-pack and continuing down into the hot pink boxer briefs he’s wearing. His large, oval belt buckle and dark-wash Wranglers hang low on his hips, unbuttoned, revealing the beginning of what looks to be an impressive bulge. Everything about this picture exudes confidence and sex appeal. And I already know he has no trouble getting laid.
As I continue examining the picture, I can’t help but feel…something. Awe, maybe? Or maybe even a little admiration at the confidence it must’ve taken to post something like this. But also, maybe a little flair of something else altogether. Something I refuse to give much thought to, butsomethingthat has me unable to swipe to the left for a third time tonight. Swallowing thickly around the golf ball lodged in my throat, I drag my finger to the right before I have a chance to overthink it, then just as quickly, set it face down on the nightstand before rolling over and forcing myself to sleep. The swirling of arousal in my gut makes that somewhat of a challenge, especially when the buzz coming from my phone fills the dark, quiet room, but I don’t let myself check it.
Tomorrow.
This app can be future Ford’s problem.
Two
Hollis
“Ouch, goddamn!” I hiss, jumping back from the stove while swiping my hand over the bacon grease splatter on my lower stomach. That got me fucking good. Settling my gaze on the reddened flesh, I know it’s going to leave a mark.Probably why my dad always gave me shit for cooking in my underwear growing up.
Maybe I’ll finally learn my lesson.
Laughter bubbles past my lips, because that’s seriouslydoubtful. When I was younger, my mom would tell me I was like a moth to a flame. I would get hurt constantly, doing dumb boy shit, yet I would never learn my lesson. One summer, when I was probably ten or eleven, I jerry-rigged a ramp for my dirt bike that overlooked the creek behind my house. I thought if I caught enough air and came at the water fast enough, I could almost ride on top of the water. It was a dumbass idea formed after watching hours of dirt bike YouTube videos in the dead of night when my parents wereasleep, fueled by my older brother egging me on and the inherent need to prove him wrong and be better than him. That ended with me in a neon-green plaster cast for the rest of summer break, but not even a broken bone could’ve stopped me from attempting the stunt for a second time—you know, for good measure—which landed me with a gnarly black-and-blue ankle sprain to go with my already broken arm and a long, boring lecture from my parents about the importance of safety.
So, it’s safe to say, it usually takes me a few times before I learn my lesson. An everyday glutton for punishment, if you will. But to be fair, it wasn’t my fault I got splashed with sizzling grease just now. In fact, I’d even go as far as to say, I’m somewhat of a pro at cooking bacon in my chonies without injury. If anyone is to blame for my lack of attention, it’sFireInMyVeins, the late-forties daddy who I just matched with onHive. I don’t typically waste my time on profiles that don’t show their face or give much information in their bio about what they’re looking for—both of which apply toFireInMyVeins—but the sexy, half-naked mirror selfies that gave off major Myspace vibes and the short, three-second video had me intrigued enough to sayfuckmy usual rules. Imagine my delight when we were a match. Hence the grease burn that’s quite uncomfortable for how little it is in size.
After I flip the bacon, I turn around and open the fridge, reaching for the cantaloupe sitting on the middle shelf beside an unopened case of beer. I’ve been dying to devour it since I picked it up at the market last night. Grabbing a knife out of the drawer, I cut it into nice, triangle-shaped pieces, pausing about halfway through when a notification comes in, causing my phone to buzz on the counter. A smile tugs on my lips as I wipe off my hands on the dish towel beside the sink before opening the message from Mr. Fire Daddy. I was planning toshoot him a message once I finished cooking breakfast, but he beat me to it.
