Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
When all’s said and done, and I switch my profile to live, it turns out I might have overanalyzed the photo thing. It takes thirty seconds to get my first DM, a few minutes to have ten, and after I check through all those, more keep coming in.
They’re from everyone and everywhere. A guy in Connecticut offers to meet halfway before I’ve even said anything to him.
Face pics, abs pics, group pics, pics of guys with their dog, pics of guys from so far away I can’t make out their features—all pop up with a message next to them.
The messages range from “Hey,” to dick pics, to asking if I’m a top or bottom.
Thanks, random stranger, that’s something I’d like to figure out.
One guy even offers to fuck my pussy-boy mouth. Whatever that means.
Nice to meet you too.
This is … no. It’s too overwhelming. I throw my phone on my bed and ignore the constant vibrating of new messages coming through.
At least if I get desperate enough, I have options.
Yaaay.
I think I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be.
There’s only one thing that will get me through this, and that’s a vat of coffee.
Noise from downstairs filters up to my room, and the deep voices of my dad and brother let me know they’ve come back for a coffee break.
And, like every Sunday when I get out of bed and make my way down to the kitchen for breakfast, the usual ribbing starts.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
I give my brother the finger while Dad slaps the back of Campbell’s head.
In farming, there are no days off, but Dad’s lenient on me since I’m going to college, and to go to college on a free ride, I need to play hockey, which means lots of hours away from farm duties.
One day in the not-so-distant future, Dad’s going to cut back his hours on the farm and then retire completely.
We sell hay and have dabbled in a few vegetable crops, but our milking cows are our main source of income. Dairy makes up seventy to eighty percent of Vermont’s farming income, and it’s unpredictable as hell. One year we can do great, the next we won’t see any profit at all.
We’ve been trying to get Dad to build other sources of revenue for years, and finally he’s starting to cave, but he’s made it clear it’s up to Campbell and me to make the decisions together. This farm is our future.
Mom always cooks big breakfasts for us and the farmhands, so I find the leftovers in the fridge to heat up and pour myself some coffee.
Dad’s on his way out when I finally sit down, so it’s just Campbell and me.
“You look like shit.”
“Long night.” Long, embarrassing night. “And thanks, by the way. It’s always nice to hear how unattractive I am.”
“Well, I have always been the better-looking brother.”
“Whatever delusion helps you sleep at night.”
Though, it’s probably true. Campbell always had girls hanging off him. It’s probably why they never paid me much attention. That, and my complete obliviousness to flirting. It’s not only guys I have inexperience with. My friends in high school would laugh at me when I’d blatantly shoot girls down without even realizing they were flirting. It’s not my fault I’m immune.
“Do you have any plans for today?” Campbell asks.
“Not really. Do you need a hand with something?”
“Nope, but you should have plans. Not long before you won’t have your precious Sundays.”
“I joined a dating app,” I blurt.
My brother looks surprised.
“But I don’t think I’m gonna use it. Everyone on there is so …” What’s the word?
“Out?”
“I was going to say creepy.”
“You should put yourself out there. Get it over and done with like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“I tried that last night at Vino and Veritas. Apparently all those years of keeping to myself also meant I never learned the art of flirting. I swear the guys couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”
Campbell tries to hide his amusement but fails.
“Why does everyone find my inadequacies funny?”
“Who else finds it funny?”
“The bartender Rainn. He kinda took pity on me.”
“Ask him out.”
I scoff. “He’s straight. He was just doing his job. And besides, even if he was gay, ooh yay, pity date! No, thanks.”
“Then maybe you should go into this app thing with an open mind. Weed out the creepers and go on a date for once in your life.”
Damn it, he’s right. I’m not going to admit that to him, though. His head is big enough already.
“Also …” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I need to talk to you about the wedding.”
Oh, God, he’s going to ask me to be best man or groomsman or something, but I really don’t have the time—
“We’ve decided we’re only having a best man and maid of honor, and I’ve already asked Gordo to be mine.”