Page 2 of Heartstrings & Horizons
“Go home, Paige, you’re drunk.”
“I am home, silly.”
“True. Go to sleep, babe.”
“Okay.”
Chapter 1
Paige
? Butterflies - Kacey Musgraves
?? You have a new message.
“Go away,” I grumble as I check the time on my phone.
It’s 8am on a Saturday, early October light streaming in through the crack in my curtains. I spent the entire night reading my favorite Elsie Silver book before I passed out around 3am. What can I say? The cowboys just do it for me.
The notification is from the dating app Mags convinced me to join last month in my wine drunk haze. I haven’t checked it since that night — truth be told, I’ve been avoiding the notifications — but hovering over the icon now, I can’t say I’m not curious.
Cade: Are you from Tennessee?
Staring at the message, brows drawn in confusion, I throw my phone down on the pillow in exasperation. I’m from a small town in Northern, Ontario, though I currently live in Toronto, so it takes me a minute to figure out what would give this guy the impression that I’m American, until it hits me — it’s a pickup line.
“Are you from Tennessee, ‘cause you’re the only ten I see.”
It’s cheesy, but not the worst line I’ve ever heard and I’m nothing if not nosy, so I snatch up my phone again and tap on his username.
I stare at his profile, wide eyed as I swipe through the various photos. This guy ishotbut not in a conventional Captain America way — that’s never been my type — but he’s, for lack of a better word, beautiful. He has light brown hair that’s cropped at the sides with a little bit of length at the top, giving it an “I just pushed my hair back” kind of look, and I’d love to run my hands through it.Woah, where did that thought come from?
His eyes are a rich chestnut brown, and he has full lips to match his full… everything. I wouldn’t describe him as thin, nor is he plus size. He’s bulky and I definitely think he could toss me around in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.
The unfortunate thing about this app is that you can see exactly what rating you’re given so while I’ve been ogling this guy’s ‘assets’ and dating credentials, (26-year-old bartender from Kentucky, 6’1”), I’ve also been avoiding the number on the top right of the screen, displaying whatever arbitrary rating I’ve been given. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that particular brand of self-flagellation. The rating system seems ridiculously archaic and entirely subjective, so I swipe back over to my inbox. Here goes nothing:
Paige: You gonna finish that pick up line?
I wait a few minutes before giving up on a response, heading downstairs towards the kitchen to see if Mags has recovered from another night downtown. Maggie invited me to hit the bars with her latest hookup, but I politely declined and scurried away to my room with my kindle and my emotional support water bottle. Crowds have always made me uncomfortable, and the thought of being a third wheel is far from appealing.
Around 2am, while I was grabbing a refill in the kitchen, Mags stumbled in, disheveled and looking well-fucked. I’m definitelynotjealous; not even a little bit.Oh, who am I kidding?
When I round the corner into the kitchen, I find Maggie slumped at the island with a half empty “Fuck the Patriarchy” coffee mug in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Rough night?” She startles at the sound of my voice.
“Can you keep it down?”
A soft laugh escapes me - clearly someone had too much to drink last night.
“Sorry,” I whisper before gesturing to her mug. “Refill?”
“No, but can you carry me to bed? It’s too early to be human.”
Although I could probably wear pocket-sized Maggie like a backpack, I have no choice but to decline.
“No can do, Mags. You have class in 20 minutes.”
I hear what sounds like a garbled “fuuuuck” as I head into the kitchen for some caffeine and a bowl of cereal. While I’m pouring an ungodly amount of pumpkin spice creamer into the strongest coffee known to man, my phone chimes with another notification.
