Page 1 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 1

KENNETH

Unknown Number: SOS Grindr dude grabby n Im locked n battthrm!!! Help!

I immediately sit up straighter at my desk, closing my laptop with more force than necessary. One glance at the clock tells me that I’ve stayed in the office far too late again, as if the darkness of the sky beyond my floor-to-ceiling windows wasn’t evidence enough.

The painfully hard-to-read text has come through from an unknown number, so there’s every likelihood it’s a prank, but the vision it has painted isn’t one that I can ignore.

‘Where are you?’ I text back, pushing my rolling chair back and glancing down at the city lights on the street beyond my window. I’m fifteen stories up, and this view never fails to relax me.

The view from my apartment is even better, but I’m rarely there long enough to enjoy it.

Unknown Number: Fruutboll

I frown down at the misspelled reply. The Fruitbowl is a gay nightclub on the seedier side of town. The last time I visited was almost fifteen years ago, and it was run-down and rough even then. I can’t imagine time has been good to it. But at least I know the random number belongs to someone local.

That must be what spurs me to reply the way I do.

Me: Stay in the stall. I’m on my way.

I slide my suit jacket on, pocket my essentials, then stride across my minimalist office space, locking my door once I’ve closed it behind me. The rest of the office is dark, my employees long gone for the night. I set the alarm as I leave the main space and then cross over to the bank of elevators, impatiently waiting for the doors to slide open.

Once I’m in the basement parking garage and sliding onto the leather seat of my sleek BMW, I question what the hell I’m doing. Why not call the cops to go and rescue the stranger whose date had gone south? Why not call the club itself and let them handle the situation?

I sigh, rubbing my hand over my stubbled jaw, and absently muse that I either need to shave or commit to grow my beard back out. The last time I did, I was dismayed at the gray hair which had taken over from its previously dark-brown coloring. Now that the hair on my head has also started fading to silver, I’m beginning to come to terms with my age.

Forty-five. God, I swear I was only thirty yesterday. Where have those fifteen years gone?

I’m a vain man; I can admit it. You don’t become the CEO of a nationwide retail chain without having an ego. I work out religiously and I like my reflection. But time slows for nobody, and even a strict diet and gym routine have been unable to circumvent the aging process.

What do I have to show for the past twenty years?

Outside of a very successful career and the wealth that goes with it…not a hell of a lot, I’m afraid.

I’m a workaholic because my social life is not what it used to be. The friends I was closest to in my twenties all settled down and started families. I became a cliché: single, rich, only ever dating casually for fun…and eventually, I became the odd one out.

Sure, I still have buddies I meet for beers and a laugh, but as time moves on, those events have become fewer and farther between. They’ve all got spouses and family commitments; some even have kids.

I…have a cat.

Even my cat treats me like a stranger whenever I’m home. He spends more time with my housekeeper than he does with me.

Since I turned forty-five a couple of months ago, I can admit that I’ve become more introspective…and, as part of that, I can acknowledge that I’m lonely. Christmas hasn’t even happened yet, but planning for the Valentine’s Day marketing campaigns has already begun, making my loneliness feel even more pronounced.

I’ve tried making more of an effort to see my friends, but even then, I’m still loitering on the outside of their seemingly more fulfilling lives. My best friend since high school, Mike, has been nagging me to try dating —not just hooking up, but dating— and I’ve been putting it off because I feel like I’m past my prime.

So, all that to say maybe that’s why I’m driving across the city at midnight on a Friday night (Saturday morning?) in response to a text message from an unknown number.

I’m lonely. I’m bored. And, who knows, maybe it’s the sign from the universe I’ve been looking for.