“Jesus, Grayson. Stop being a bitch. Just fill it out. Who cares if you end up dating someone?” Just the thought has my stomach turning. “If you don’t like dating or the idea of it, why are you doing this? You can meet a friend at a bar. You obviously want more.” I bang my head against the desk, frustrated with how annoyingly indecisive I am.
Deep down, I do want love. Right now, I’m not ready for it. Love is too big and requires too fucking much of me.
Maybe if it’s the right person…
“Do you hear yourself?” I mumble to myself as I click on the link that takes me to my profile page.
There are the basic demographics. Name (not giving my real one). Age. Likes. Dislikes. Blah, blah, blah.
“My name is Isaac Gray,” I speak out loud as I type. It isn’t a lie. Isaac is my middle name and Gray is part of my first name. “I am thirty-two.” I wince, maybe I should lie about that. “No, no lies.” I take a deep breath and click the arrow at the bottom of the page. It takes me to the next series of questions. “A hundred questions? What the hell do you people want from me?” I rub my eyes and decide the hell with it. I’m not doing this. It’s fucking pointless. Who will want to get to know an ex-con, committed for rape—wrongfully—and lives in a commune?
It’s not a regular life.
I stare at the screen again, the questions laughing at me. “Pick up your damn balls and fucking fill it out. There won’t be any hits on your profile anyway.” For some odd reason, that only has my confidence dwindling. I’m a basket case. I don’t know what I want. I want love, but I don’t want it.
I want kids, but I don’t.
I want to try to move on from this loneliness, but in order to do that, I have to learn to trust again. I don’t know how.
I want someone, but I don’t want anyone.
How can I feel all of this at the same time? I’m a contradiction. I want more than being infatuated with the idea of having somebody. Isn’t there a difference? Truly wanting love versus having it and realizing the idea is so much better than the reality?
By my experience, reality loves to fuck you over.
With a quick tap of my fingers against my thigh, I roll over to the computer desk again and pick up my phone. I place an order for delivery for Lighthouse Grill and lick my lips at the thought of sinking my teeth into a BBQ pork sandwich.
If food gets me more excited than this dating profile, what the hell am I doing?
“You’re being a bitch. That’s what you’re doing,” I judge myself and lace my fingers behind my head and read the first question out loud. “What is your most bizarre talent of quirk?” I haven’t thought about talent since elementary school, when I auditioned for the talent show, which I did not win. Apparently, doing magic tricks at eight and failing at them isn’t as special as a baton twirler.
Is it wrong to still hold a sliver of bitterness against Amy Wilson? She dropped that damn baton a hundred times. The only reason why she won was because she wore a tutu and looked cute. I bet if I wore a tutu, I would have gotten strange looks.
Imagining that god awful image, I shake my head and get to the task at hand.
I honestly have no idea what a talent of mine is. A quirk? I don’t know. Am I really that boring? Wanting answers for my first question, I head to the door and open it to see if anyone is coming down the hall. I grin when I see Jaxon.
“Jaxon!” I call to his retreating form, and he turns his head over his shoulder when he hears my voice.
“What’s up, Gray?” he asks, walking backward to meet me at my bedroom door.
I lift my arms above my head and grab onto the door frame. How honest do I want to be with him? I don’t want the guys to give me shit. If Heaven ever finds out about my dating profile, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s best if I keep this to myself.
“Well? I have a very pregnant wife needing this chocolate bar, and if I do not give it to her, I’ll sleep on the couch for the remainder of her pregnancy. I’m lucky I got back in the bedroom at all after the last time I upset her.”
“To be fair, saying her stomach looks so much bigger than it did the other day wasn’t a good choice of words to say to a pregnant woman carrying twins,” I point out.
“I didn’t mean for it to sound like I called her fat. I didn’t. I just meant that I could see the babies filling her out. I love it.”
“She’s hormonal, Jaxon. Her body is changing. She’s sensitive. You can’t go around saying things like that. You have to choose your words carefully.” Quinn has double the hormones pumping through her system since she’s carrying twins. Jaxon will learn, and if I know Quinn, she’ll never put the love of her life on the couch.
Not permanently anyway.
“I’ll have to keep that in mind more often. I know you didn’t call me over here to talk about my shortcomings; what’s going on, Gray?”
“Right…” My tone is a bit beleaguered. “I was wondering if you think I have any talents or quirks? Just curious.”
He lifts a black brow at me, and a few forced wrinkles appear on his forehead. I swallow hard and grip the trim of the doorway. “Interesting question for someone who is just curious,” he says. “Well, you’re a huge asset to the team. I’ve never seen someone so large but stealthy at the same time. You’re a great friend too. You get distracted sometimes, and you like to go behind others to ‘redo’ whatever they just did.”