Chapter 10 Midnight in the Sex App of Good and Evil
Midnight in the Sex App of Good and Evil
Heat flooded my face as I glanced over at the machinery in the corner of the room. I’d totally forgotten it was on—or that it was building a mock-up of the latest addition to our Monster Masturbators oversized dildos collection.
“That’s not for me!” I insisted.
“The dildo or the hookup app?”
“The dildo!”
“Hey! I’m not here to judge.”
“The dildo isn’t for me,” I reiterated. “But if you’re not careful it’s going to be for you.”
He chuckled. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“I thought you didn’t know anything about sex toys.”
“I don’t” came his snappy retort. “But I think I’ve made it clear that I’m eager to learn.”
I couldn’t help it. I chuckled. But the chuckle quickly shifted into nervous resolve. I didn’t have to tell him this. I probably shouldn’t have. However, Hudson had a way of making me feel comfortable. Safe. Against all odds and logic, I trusted him.
“After due consideration, I decided that your advice last night was sound. I should change my outlook a little bit.”
To my surprise, Hudson pursed his lips. Thoughtful. “You shouldn’t try to lose your virginity just because I said so. Or because Lloyd Exeter was an asshole on a podcast.”
“ ‘Asshole on a podcast’ is redundant,” I mumbled. “But that’s not why I’m doing this. I’m just…tired of living on the margins.”
He leaned over my shoulder to inspect the screen. “How’s the search going, then? Any promising prospects?”
Yes, you.
But alas, I wasn’t looking to Hudson for this. I was looking at dating apps. So even if there had been promising prospects, they didn’t matter when the one guy I wanted—but couldn’t let myself have—was so close I could feel his breath on my neck.
“I’ll just say this. If you could call a meeting of all the world’s men and teach them how to take a picture without holding up a fish or a red Solo cup, that would be great.”
“I’ll get right on that. And how about this: I’m a consultant. Would it be helpful if I…consulted on this? First hit is always free.”
What the hell did that mean? When I heard hit, my mind always went straight to sex. But surely he didn’t mean it that way.
“Or is it too weird?” Hudson asked after a beat of my silence, stepping back from my chair. “Me helping you find a guy to hook up with? I think my services would come in handy, but I’d hate to be a Jared about it.”
He could never be a Jared about anything, and his services could come in handy in many other ways, I was sure. I focused back on the screen, scrolling down so he could scan the site.
“You have more experience picking sexual partners,” I reasoned. “And better luck, I imagine. I’d be grateful for the help.”
Another one of those sharp, longing pangs struck me. In another universe, maybe Hudson would help me. Maybe he’d cut the crap with this online hookup stuff, boost me onto my desk, and ravish me right here. Fulfill my naughty fantasies. Give me a cherry-popping I’d never forget.
A silly dream. If he’d been interested in having sex with me, he would have said so. Not offered to help me find someone else to get the job done.
“It’s scarier than I thought it would be,” I added. “Trying to put myself out there.”
“Firsts usually are. First time dating, first time having sex, first time making a friend. Go easy on yourself.”
I’d never been easy on myself, not for one second.
“And when it comes to men,” he continued, “you should be choosy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind while messaging…” I pointed at a random profile on the screen. “Brendan.”
Hudson made a face.
“He’s got a quote from that toxic masculinity influencer guy in his bio.
The one who got arrested for human trafficking last year.
” I opened my mouth to retort, but he cut me off.
“Even if your ethos is don’t be choosy, I think not a potential human trafficker is the absolute minimum bar your guys should clear. What about that one?”
Jonathan. Straight teeth. Huge muscles. He’d do. He wasn’t Hudson, with the barest wisps of smile lines at his temples and hands made for grabbing the sheets. But whatever. “Sure, yeah. I’ll message him.”
“C’mon, Scout. The first person you have sex with doesn’t need to be your soul mate or anything, but don’t just passively accept some dude because he’ll answer your DM. Do you want him?”
I reconsidered the countless pixels making up Jonathan’s profile picture. “He looks like he’d want me to get out of bed at six on Saturday morning for a jog.”
“Not into the gym-bro stuff. Good to know. What about that guy?”
“That haircut makes him look sinister.”
He pointed to another.
“C’mon. Cowboy boots?”
Another.
“He didn’t even make his bed before taking the mirror selfie.”
Another.
“Not my type.”
Hudson barked a laugh. “And what is your type, Scout?”
Oh no. I shouldn’t have brought up the type thing. I idly picked at a stray thread dangling from the cuff of my cardigan sleeve. Anything to avoid telling him the truth. That I didn’t want any of these guys because they weren’t him. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Don’t overanalyze it. It’s that zing. What guy makes you zing?”
I don’t know how to answer that without totally giving myself away, dude. And I can’t give myself away. Not to you.
He tried again. “Or maybe this: When you’ve imagined what sex would be like—real sex, good sex, the sex you’ve wished for—what’s that guy like?”
Say something. Say anything. Just don’t say He’s exactly like you. “Um. Tall.”
“Pity for the short kings out there, but at least it’s a start.”
Hand back on my mouse, I scrolled down the seemingly endless pages of dating profiles, mostly for something to do.
But the longer I looked, the longer the partialism of it all—shirtless torsos, crinkle-eyed stares, buzz-cut heads—spiraled me into something like a trance.
Before I knew it, I was doing that nervous talking thing of mine.
The one where I said entirely the wrong thing.
The truth.
“And gentle. And thoughtful. And maybe like he wouldn’t necessarily beat me in a fight—you know, a little softer or lankier or whatever.
None of those big burly types. Curly hair.
Long fingers, nice hands. And he’d smell good—really good.
He’d be able to talk to me about stuff that wasn’t sex.
Science or math or philosophy or the last museum he went to.
But he can’t be too serious. He needs to be able to have fun, too.
A nice laugh. A good smile. Looks good in a pair of jeans.
Bookish. Nerdy. Kind eyes—I don’t care about the color. I like glasses. And…”
I trailed off, the weight of one particular set of kind, bespectacled eyes bringing me back to reality. Closing the tab on my screen, I stood up from my chair and leaned against my desk to face him.
“And I want him to care about me. When I do have sex for the first time, I don’t want anonymous.
I probably should. It’d be safer. Less risky.
Easier to wham-bam, thank you, ma’am. But I want to be with someone who actually likes me.
I don’t need forever. Just a one-night stand.
But still. I want to feel safe. To know that it’ll be good. ”
For a few moments, all we heard was the whir of the 3-D printer as it went about its work.
“Quite the Mr. Right,” Hudson mused.
“Don’t make fun. I’m fully aware that it’s ridiculous.”
“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say…”
As he trailed off, something strange happened. Something absolutely baffling. Hudson raised one perfect hand, ghosted the tips of his fingers up my knee, and lightly, almost incidentally, traced the hem of my skirt.
My entire body erupted in goose bumps. I licked my lips involuntarily.
Was he…was he touching me on purpose?
“Say what?”
Hudson glanced up at me from under his eyelashes. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he looked…hungry. “Your dream man sounds a lot like me.”