Chapter 1
RHYS
“Oh, come on, Rhys, do it,” Tyler teased.
Tyler, my roommate, was the only person outside of my family who called me by my actual first name, a side effect of being a professional rugby player. Everyone else—teammates, coaches, the press—called me by my last name, Dawie.
Rugby was a popular enough sport in other parts of the world, but the Major League Rugby association in the States was still pretty small. Austin was their newest expansion team, and I’d been their first recruit because I’d led the Longhorn rugby team to the national championship two years ago.
If you’re wondering how a big, corn-fed Texas boy ended up with such an impossibly Welsh name, it’s because I was named after my grandfather.
Between my stuttering, my Texas accent, and the way my Welsh relatives sounded like they were gargling rocks while talking, language for me was basically always going to be a disaster.
“Alfie said it was a really damn good app and that it worked for him,” Tyler insisted.
“What you’re saying is that the one other gay man you know got very, very lucky on one of these horrid dating apps.”
Tyler blushes but remains persistent. “To be fair, I may be saying that, but I don’t think the app is horrid.
Alfie said it’s created by queer people for queer people, so I don’t think it would be totally awful.
For instance, if you say you want a serious relationship, you won’t get matched with some fuckboy who’s all like, ‘Send me nudes.’”
“Oh, is that in the marketing?” I asked, stripping off my T-shirt. “No fuckboys, guaranteed.”
“Dude, look at you. You’re one of those mountain men. One of those bears or whatever the gays like to call your type.”
I looked down at myself and sighed. Rugby practice had kicked my ass, and I was a hairy, sweaty mess. I’d showered in the locker room but got sweaty all over again on the drive home since the AC in my car was on the fritz. Not that it’d ever worked all that well to begin with.
Professional rugby in American didn’t pay that much.
“Let’s ignore my belly for a moment. It looks like I have boobs.” I smacked my pecs to make them jiggle
Taylor throws up his hands. “I’m telling you—some guys are really into that.”
“Oh, is that according to, again, your one other gay friend?”
He scrunches his nose. “Perhaps.”
“Great. Now, let’s say they’re into a little extra…”
“Cushion for the pushin’?” Tyler grinned, clearly begging for a dental plan.
Not that I’d actually hit him. I wasn’t feral. I mean, sure, I played rugby—but I made a point not to flatten the smaller guys. On purpose, anyway.
“That is such a… Never mind, Ty. Even if the guy’s okay with me physically, there’s the whole thing that happens when I get nervous.”
“Oh, you mean the stuttering? Do you even really do that anymore? I never hear you stuttering.”
“That’s because you’re like a brother to me, Ty. Of course I don’t stutter around you.”
His brows meet in the middle. “But didn’t you take, like, years of speech therapy? You said that you have all these tricks for keeping it under control.”
I’d always complained to him that I couldn’t stand it when I could tell someone wasn’t paying attention, or if they were getting impatient with my stutter. Tyler was like family because he was the best fucking listener on the planet. Unfortunately, that also meant he remembered everything.
“Yes, but when I’m nervous—and I will be fucking nervous as hell on a first date—none of my tricks are going to work. The stutter is going to be out there for my date to see.”
Ty took my Gigantor mits in his regular-sized hands and looked me in the eye.
“First of all, I think you’re worried about the wrong thing. Stuttering over a couple of words here and there doesn’t mean anything. The real problem is if your date is a dick about it. Then, boom. You already know he’s not the one. Sounds like a feature, not a bug.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you just call my stutter a feature? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I already know you’re not even that mad at me because—drumroll please—no stutter.”
He was seriously way too smug for someone half my size.
“Fuck off,” I said, pulling him in for a noogie.
“Get off me,” he said, laughing as he pulled away. Straightening his hair, he suggested, “Put it in your bio, man. Say that you have a stutter. Anyone who’d judge you for that will swipe past you and you’ll be none the wiser.”
I stuck out my chin and crossed my arms over my chest. Fuck, I needed another shower. Before that, though, I opened the app—why the hell did they hafta call it CUPID?—and read the pop-up.
Ready to fall in love this Valentine’s Day? Time to meet CUPID!
Over the last five years, Heart2Heart has helped thousands of lonely hearts find their perfect match. Now, just in time for Valentine’s Day, we’ve taken matchmaking to the next level.
Your romantic future is about to get even brighter thanks to CUPID, the Compatible-Unit Partnering Intelligence Databot, which pairs H2H’s enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created.
Many users say CUPID knows what they need in a partner even better than they do!
Want to know what CUPID has in store for you? Click here to sign up.
Tyler, a systems analyst, took my phone and read through the notification.
“This is some advanced algorithm work,” he said, scrolling down the page. “Nice.”
“Give me that,” I said, snatching the phone from him.
“Look,” he said, pointing to a flashing button on the screen. “For a little extra, you can set up a blind date for Valentine’s Day. They’ll take the details from your account and the details from the other guy’s account and pull together the perfect Valentine’s date. Doesn’t hurt to give it a try.”
“I dunno. I still haven’t figured out the locker room yet,” I admitted, glaring at the app. “Pretty sure the team’ll be okay with my sexuality, but until I come out, I’m a little wary of having someone recognize me. Especially considering I did at least one interview with every local news station…”
Tyler, who never could let me stay in a bad mood, patted my shoulder. “Rhys, you’re the best human being I’ve ever met. I’m mad that I’m not gay because if I could go gay for anyone, I would go gay for you.”
“Whatever. Lindsay would kick my ass,” I retort, talking about his amazing girlfriend. There are days when she’s the only reason I put up with his shenanigans.
“Of course she would kick your ass.” His expression goes from smirking to sincere.
“What I’m saying is… you deserve to be loved.
To be fucking worshiped. Anyone who would treat you any less is so shitty that you shouldn’t even consider them.
So, if this CUPID thing is supposed to be good at putting people together, maybe just be super honest in your profile.
Put it all in there and see what CUPID can do. ”
“You do realize that you’re speaking about this technology like it’s a real person and not some sort of advanced programming, right?”
“True, and that’s probably what the machines want from us, but let’s just go with it for now, Rhys. We’re talking about your heart. And your dick.”
“Please never speak of my dick again.”
“Fine. But only if you go on a blind date next week for Valentine’s.”
I huff out a breath. “Fine.”