Page 11 of The Charlie Method

“Should we go to Malone’s?” Will kills the engine and unbuckles his seat belt.

“Yeah, might as well.”

We don’t have a game tomorrow, no morning skate either, and if Caitlin isn’t coming by, then there’s no reason not to get totally wasted tonight.

It’s only a ten-minute walk to Main Street from our house, so we decide to walk to the bar instead of ordering a car.

As we fall into step with each other down the sidewalk, Will says, “So you really don’t want to go out with Caitlin?”

“Nah, mate.”

He rolls his eyes. “Commitment is not as bad as you think it is.”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. It’s god-awful.”

Only ends in the pure and utter destruction of one’s soul and faith in all that is good, as I can sadly attest.

Well, fuck that. After the way Shannon ripped my heart from my chest the week before high school graduation, I don’t plan on getting serious with another woman for a long, long time.

Maybe in the distant future. Someday. Some vague, undetermined future day.

But definitely not tonight. Nope, tonight I’m pulling up our favorite hookup app, Caitlin already firmly in the rearview mirror of my sex life.

“Are you on our profile?” Will sounds amused as he peers at my phone.

“Yeah. Just checking messages.”

We created a joint profile a few weeks ago, mostly because it’s awkward to be out somewhere flirting with a girl and find a way to gauge if she’s interested in both of us without appearing like sleazeballs. A hookup app feels like an efficient way to vet someone beforehand while sparing yourself the embarrassment of rejection or horrified outrage.

Not that I embarrass easily. It takes a lot to make me care about shit. My default state has always been unfazed.

“Anything good?”

“I think these messages are from a bot.”

I delete them, unmatch the girl, and am about to exit the app when the profile on the main screen catches my eye.

“Fucking hell, Larsen. Look at this.”

When I show him the photo, he shoots me a knowing grin. “The bow?”

“The bow,” I groan.

The girl in the picture is lying in bed, wearing a purple lace bralette and a pair of panties in a matching shade of purple with a little pink bow in the center of the waistband. I am a sucker for bows. I want to capture that bow between my teeth. Nibble on it. And then nibble on every inch of that body. Small, perky tits. Tucked-in waist. Long legs.

I don’t even care what her face looks like. Her body’s a weapon. I want my mouth all over it.

“Yeah, we’re liking her.”

Will is chuckling to himself. “Do you ever not think about sex?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

I tap the heart in the corner of her profile photo, praying she liked us in return. A second later, my favorite alert pops up.

It’s a match!

CHAPTER THREE

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