Page 25 of Full Split
ME: You and me.
DADDY: We’re not a thing.
ME: You sure about that?
DADDY: We can’t be.
ME: Why not?
DADDY: You know why.
I sigh audibly, checking my surroundings again before I look back down at my phone.
ME: Tell me that you don’t want me.
DADDY: I don’t want you.
ME: Liar.
ME: Tell me to my face.
ME: I bet you can’t.
DADDY: Goodnight, Niles.
ME: Night, Daddy
Then, just to be a brat, I hold my phone up and take a selfie. I'm wearing skinny jeans and a plain black tank top, my hair is purposefully mussed to look like I party more than I actually do. The shadows around me make the photo look artsy and moody, the light from my phone making my skin look pale and shiny. It's clear I'm at a bar or club, and it probably looks like I've been here for more than ten minutes. It looks like I'm having fun. Like I didn't ghost the guy I actually came here to meet.
I watch as the picture sends, then gets marked as seen. Three little dots pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. Eventually, the dots go away and it becomes clear he has nothing else to say. Nothing else that he's going to share with me, anyway.
Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I head over to the bar. As I'm about to order a drink, the bartender hands me one of their signature shots in a test tube.
"From your friend over there," she says, gesturing with a thumb over her shoulder. I look over to the opposite side of the bar and see a man with an athletic build, probably in his mid to late thirties, with dark blond hair neatly swept back. He's wearing a snug-fitting dark blue V-neck t-shirt, showing off a full sleeve of tattoos and a large, but not gaudy, expensive watch. He's talking to a cute little twink wearing a dark pink crop top and blue cutoff shorts and seems to be holding their attention pretty well. Still, he looks over at me, locks eyes, and lifts his drink. I chuckle and lift mine as well, raising an eyebrow towards the sexy little thing he's chatting up. His lips turn up on one side, and he winks before turning his attention back to respond to something the cute guy just said.
I take the shot, order another round for myself, Jeff, and the guy he found to take my place. At least he doesn’t seem pissed that I rejected him.
I make my way to the dance floor, wanting nothing more than to lose myself for a little while.
My head is a little sore and fuzzy the next morning when I wake up. I don't normally drink much, but last night, I needed something to shut down the rapid spiral my thoughts had taken. A sedative might have been more effective at getting Wyatt out of my brain.
Jeff helped, actually. He seems like a decent guy, which, if I'm being honest with myself, is hard to come by when you're cruising hookup apps. It's rough out there, especially when there are more than a few guys who think like Peter does about my transition. I'm always very clear about being trans in my profile, because I've seen the aftermath of what could happen otherwise.
Then again, meeting strangers on a hookup app can be risky no matter who you are.
I have a love-hate relationship with hookup culture. I love that I can usually find a quick lay and get all the important logistics out of the way before meeting. Once we're there, there's no beating around the bush about why we're there and all the little details have been squared away. Everyone's usually prepped, ready, and knows what to expect.
The problem is when you want something more than a quick hookup. Something that doesn't end in a quickie, especially when the guy hits it and quits it before you have the chance to get off. It takes me a little more than some guys are willing to give. I suppose that's to be expected, too.
Jeff isn’t what I expected. He might actually be the kind of guy to take me home and show me a good time. Hell, from the time we spent hanging out last night, he might even be the kind of guy to take me out and have a good time before he takes me home. He seemed willing enough to put in the work to get me interested, at least. He spent the majority of the night laughing and dancing with me instead of the cute twink, and didn't even try to get me to go home with him. He seems… nice.
As I hit the pavement for a morning run, I consider how much easier my life would be if I stopped pretending I have a chance with Wyatt. Truthfully, I might not. Just because I get his dick up doesn't mean he's interested. Maybe I should stop pressing the issue and put my efforts into someone who actually is interested in me.
Then again, if I didn't think there was any interest, it'd be easier to walk away. But he wants me, I know he does.
Still, there's the question of what happens after. If he did sleep with me… What then? Would he avoid me even more than he does now? I can't imagine a world where Wyatt isn't on the sidelines, encouraging me with that gleam of pride in his eyes. A world where he's not spotting me, always there to catch me if I fall.
I've been stuck on Wyatt for so long, I'm not sure I'm capable of letting it go.
