1. Harrison

He grunts into my ear, digging his fingers into my thigh as his thrusts become frantic. Had I known he was a grunter, I probably wouldn’t have brought him home. No, that’s a lie. I still would have. I just would have put music on or something before getting pinned under him with his giant cock in my ass. Urgh. It’s so hard to stay in the moment when it sounds like a boar is dying beside your head. What’s his name again? Brian? No, Billy. Wayne? Shit.

He goes quiet. Ah, maybe I’ll have a hope of getting off now, I think, but before my dick can even get the message, whatever-his-name-is arches his back and exhales in a shuddered breath.

I guess that’s over then.

“That was amazing,” he says, climbing off me and falling onto the mattress at my side. I hear the door down the hall close. Duckie and Ian are back. With the Banana Ball mini tour over and the world tour starting up in February, there was no point keeping my place back in New Port Richey. So I packed up everything I owned, which conveniently fit into my Honda SUV, and headed for Savannah. Duckie and Ian had the same idea, and with rentals being the way they are, we decided to get a place together. Luckily, this one has two bedrooms, on opposite sides of the apartment, and two bathrooms.

They have been gone over the holidays, off staying with Duckie’s brother in some small town outside of Boston. I only have my sister and her adorable brats, and they planned some snow trip, so I stayed here, in this cheap apartment. Hooking up with random strangers. It’s not so bad. My room fit my large queen bed and two nightstands against the far wall, and opposite it, I have my television above a set of drawers and a tall mirror beside it that I should have angled better toward my bed. Oh well, next time.

“Do you mind if I shower?” whatever-his-name-is asks, climbing from the bed.

“No, go ahead,” I reply, and he grabs his clothes from the floor and walks naked out of my bedroom door. Hopefully, Duckie and Ian aren’t still in the shared living space. Though they will get to see exactly why I asked this guy here in the first place if they are. He has one of the best fucking asses I’ve seen in who knows how long. Too bad he’s a top. I’m vers, and though bottoming usually gets me off no problem, tonight, I just couldn’t get out of my own head long enough to come.

My bathroom is right beside my room, and when the shower starts, I take the opportunity to grab his wallet from my nightstand and check his ID.

Frank. Fuck, I wasn’t even close. I put it back, then roll over to grab my phone, pulling up the app Frank found me through. There are four new messages from other men, all of them looking for a hookup, none searching for more. None except me it seems, and if I’m searching for a more real connection, I might want to look in an app that doesn’t promote itself as the top anonymous hookup app on the market. I open another app and check it, too. Three messages, one consisting only of a dick pic. It’s a pretty dick, sure, but come on. Where are the guys looking to get to know a guy, looking to fall in love? I updated my profile weeks ago, trying to attract a more serious kind of man, but it’s done nothing for the requests I’m getting. Apparently, no one reads your bio on these things. I drop my phone on the nightstand and pull on my sweatpants. A little television might distract me while I wait for Frank to get his perfectly round ass out of here.

I flick through the channels mindlessly, but just like flicking through the apps, there is nothing I think I want. But that’s the real problem, isn’t it? I think I want real love but swipe right on a hookup, and then I’m all shocked and amazed when they rush out, never call or worse, send me a message a few weeks later, completely oblivious to the fact we’ve already met.

I switch the television off and walk out to the living room. Duckie and Ian’s bedroom door is closed, but I can hear muffled voices. Not wanting to hear what they might be getting up to in there, I grab a record from my collection on the bookshelves and put it on to play.

Abba will do the trick to lift my mood. The music starts, and I grab a water, my head bopping already to the piano keys, and when the vocals kick in, I put the drink on the counter, hold my closed fist up under my mouth like a microphone and start mouthing the words like I’m on stage in front of a sea of people singing along.

I let the joy of it lift me up, my voice singing louder as the chorus kicks in. I love how music has a way of getting into the deepest darkest places of a person and pulling them out into the light. At least that’s what it does for me. Always has.

I keep singing, spinning around the living room. I belt out the chorus, leaping onto the couch and pointing my arm at the window.

“What are you doing?” Frank asks, and I wiggle my hips in time with the song.

“Dancing. Want to join?”

He’s frowning at me from the bathroom doorway, fully dressed. “I think I’ll pass, but… thanks.”

I turn the music down, and he heads into the bedroom.

“Did you want to grab dinner or something?” I ask, my breathing still recovering from my living room concert.

“Actually, I’ve already got plans.”

Okay, so he never expected to be here longer than twenty minutes then. Good to know. He picks up his wallet and shoves it into his back pocket, followed by his phone.

“So, you’re going?”

“Yeah, probably should. It was fun, though. Give me a call if you ever want to hook up again.”

“Sure,” I lie, and he gives me a nod on his way past me before leaving. A fucking nod. Yep, that connection was not worth the price of the app subscription. Why do I do this to myself? Do I really think a bunch of dating apps are going to bring me Mr Right? The universe is totally screwing with me.

I jump in the shower to wash off the night. Normally, I would at least jerk off after an anticlimactic hookup, but even my dick has decided tonight, enough is enough. I press my forehead against the cool tile as the hot water washes over my back.

I can’t really blame the universe for sending me Frank. I’m the one who swiped right. Before all these apps and chats and online social media people managed to find real love, right? So what is so wrong with me that all I get are the Franks of the world?

I climb out and wipe over the mirror with one hand. My hair is a bit thinner than it used to be, but it’s still thick enough. I don’t really mind the couple of grays that have come in over the last few years either, and I like that my hazel green eyes have the lines of a happy man.

Okay, if it’s the apps that are bringing me Franks, maybe I should give the universe a chance to show me I can have something different. No. I want the universe to show me I deserve better.

I turn my head to the side, my strong jaw catches the light and even with the slight scruff that somehow always looks better than a clean shave I can see the small scar on my chin that holds one of the best memories from my childhood. It brings warmth to my chest and a smile to my lips.

Maybe it is time for a change.

I dress and grab my phone, immediately deactivating all my dating accounts. Turns out, they don’t make leaving easy, all of them popping up with offers to pause the account in case my circumstances change. Wow. If you did meet someone on these things, they really make you think it will last, huh?

I scroll through my contacts next. Far too many are men who never called or texted me back. Time to cull those fuckers, too. I’m brutal, deleting threads of text along with names and numbers, all in the hopes that by telling myself I deserve better, somehow the universe will bring me someone better. It can’t be as bad at picking men as I am. My phone chimes with a new message, and I flick open the text app.

GORDON: Don’t forget about tomorrow night! I’ve invited a few guys I think you might like, too.

As a best friend, Gordon is great, but as a cupid, he sucks. The last guy he thought I might like wasn’t even gay. He brought his wife along, thinking they’d been invited to a meet and greet with the new Banana Ball players, was pretty freaking awkward when I asked how long they’d been in an open relationship. Let’s just say they left pretty quickly.

HARRISON: I don’t need you to set me up.

GORDON: It’s not a setup. They’re in the league. I invited all the players. I figured it would be a good chance for us new additions to meet everyone before training starts up.

We haven’t officially met all the OG players. Word is, they are happy to be expanding the league, but like any newbie joining an established team, there will be…teething issues we’ll have to work through. Meeting them in a neutral, relaxed environment might not be a bad idea. Plus, it would beat hanging out here in this apartment, waiting for the universe to do its thing. What the hell.

HARRISON: Okay, I’m in.

GORDON: Awesome, see you at seven.

I plug my phone in to charge on top of my drawers, and when my gaze locks on my reflection in the tall mirror beside it, I look myself square in the eye and tell myself, “You deserve better than the Franks of this world. You are kind. You are lovable. You are enough.”