Page 40 of Not That Complicated

She’d wear it every damn chance she got, and she’d tell everyone who inquired that her son theartisthadenvisionedit for her. She’d tell them whether or not they asked.

The Post Office was jammed and I fidgeted in the queue, swiping back and forth through my apps. Contemplating Giselle’s joy and her tendency to big me up could only occupy me for so long.

The couple in line ahead were standing close together. The young woman slipped her hand into her boyfriend’s back pocket. She rested her hand on the curve of his arse with a comfortable familiarity and grinned up at him when he shot her an amused, sideways smile.

That was what I wanted, I thought, with a sudden hollow feeling in my chest.

That sort of closeness with someone.

That sort of sweet, casual intimacy, the kind that could only be built on a secure relationship with unshakeable foundations.

On my way home, I ducked into The Chipped Cup. I had a client call in half an hour, which gave me enough time to pick up some caffeine on the way home. Since it was hot, and May, I planned on getting a frappe rather than my usual latte, and I swore I’d lift weights to work it off. I was sure I had some in the garage. Somewhere.

It was even busier in here than in the Post Office, and I once again found myself at the back of the queue. I woke up my phone to check my email, and hesitated. Taking a deep breath, I ignored the email app with its double-digit notification of unread messages, swiped to the third screen of my cluttered phone, and opened up Grindr.

I immediately had to back out and open up Google.

I asked Google how best to do this thing, skimmed a couple of advice blogs on what sort of photo to put up and how to showcase your interesting life. Then I flipped back into the app and stared at everything I had to fill in.

Wow.

I mean, someone has to be the least popular profile on Grindr, statistically speaking.

But I didn’t have to volunteer.

This was a mistake, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. I was going to go ahead and delete it. My thumb was hovering over the button when a bright laugh caught my attention.

Like a well-conditioned lab rat, and before I even registered that it was Adam’s laugh, I glanced over.

A tall, muscular guy in athletic shorts and an obscenely tight t-shirt instructing the viewer toWORK IT!!!pinched Adam’s chin and bent down to give him a loud, smacking kiss.

Adam turned his head at the last minute and the guy ended up smooching his cheek. Adam’s eyes were half closed. A smile curled his mouth.

He was looking right at me.

I gripped my phone tighter. Adam tilted his head and his eyes glinted.

I raised my phone to clutch it against my chest and glared.

He glared back.

Gym boy looked from Adam to me and back again with interest.

Thankfully, Amalie behind the counter broke the standoff by calling my name.

“Oi, Ray. What d’you want?”

“I’d like a caramel frappe to go, please, Amalie,” I said whirling away from Adam to face her instead. “And out of curiosity, what would you say my best feature is?”

Amalie stuck a cup under the ice machine, turned it on, and yelled over it, “Your eyes, mate. Why? And d’you want cream on that?”

“My eyes?” They were so boring. Plain, boring brown.

She came over, leaned her elbows on the counter and fluttered her lashes at me. “They’re like gingerbread,” she said.

Gingerbread?“They’re brown.”

“Yeah, but like a lovely velvety brown. And you’ve got all those little gold bits in them.” She gestured at my face. “They sparkle.”

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