Page 10 of Ctrl+Alt Submit

ERROL

R an licks his lips and shoots me a glance, visibly intrigued. “How does it work? How do you find people to, like, do stuff with? Are there apps?”

I smirk at him. “ You’re the bigshot app developer Aaryn Knight. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask that question,” I tease, which makes him laugh. “Yeah, there are apps.”

A line appears between his eyebrows. “So, you message people to hook up?”

“That’s kind of how it works.” I don’t try to hide the mirth in my voice.

“I just have a hard time picturing you being that… forward, I guess.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not really,” I admit. “Like I said, guys don’t really beat around the bush, so I don’t have to put myself out there so much as wait for them to come to me. I’ll say in my profile that I’m a submissive, what I’m into plus my hard limits, and it kind of goes from there.”

What I don’t tell him is that I find it damn near impossible to ask for what I want.

The dominants I’ve hooked up with through the apps want to call all the shots.

So while I know it’s probably not exactly a healthy dynamic, it mostly works.

Some of them were satisfying —and good for figuring out what I definitely like —but some left me feeling unfulfilled… or worse.

Ran takes his eyes off the road long enough to shoot me a look. “Is doing that stuff safe? It doesn’t sound safe.”

I shrug. “Safe as meeting strangers gets.” My stomach tightens and I make myself stop thinking about the topic. My most recent experience soured me on the whole hookup thing. But it’s not like I’ve had any luck with actual boyfriends, either.

I’d just taken for granted that forging a relationship would mean replicating the easy connection I shared with Ran — the way we at once could finish each other’s sentences and know what the other one was thinking without a word — until I stopped looking because I realized I wasn’t going to find it.

I sneak a look at Ran as he maneuvers the truck into the exit lane. My eyes are drawn to his hands as he makes a sharp turn off the highway, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel… Shit . I can’t let myself get hard thinking about how much I’d like Ran’s hands on my body.

Those thoughts fill my mind despite my efforts to block them out. Something about our conversation and Ran’s open curiosity gives me the dangerous sensation that the impossible might… not be. But that means I’ll have to overcome my fear and show him how I really feel about him.

The biggest mistake I ever made was underestimating how much time I had before he vanished from my life. I don’t know how long I have now, but I’m not going to let that happen again. Even if that means I have to do something drastic.

It was raining on and off the entire drive, but the minute Ran punches in the key code to let us into the storage facility, the sky opens up. A minute later, we’re staring at the roll-up metal door of his unit through wind-whipped sheets of water.

Ran makes a face. “Let’s wait this out, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine by me. I’m not in a rush to get back.”

He fiddles around with the radio, but the storm is making the reception all staticy so he gives up with a sigh after a minute.

“How’d you get into bartending, anyway?” he asks.

“I think it’s kind of funny that you went all through high school barely talking, and now you work a job where all you do is interact with people. ”

“Oh, at first it scared the hell out of me,” I admit. “But there were a couple things that made me see it differently. One —it’s almost like I put on a different personality. Like putting on a shirt, you know? Button it up, and boom —I’m in work mode.”

“Huh.” Ran looks thoughtful. “Is that why you always wear a button-down to work? I mean, it seems like a pretty casual bar, but you’re usually dressed up a little more.”

I huff out a laugh with no mirth in it and tell him the ugly truth. “I don’t feel fat when I’m dressed more formally,” I confess. “Well, not as fat, at least. Other guys can get away with wearing hoodies or untucked T-shirts or whatever. I don’t judge. They look fine. I look disgusting.”

Ran’s brow lowers. “Hey, don’t say that! I wish you weren’t so down on how you look. Actually, I was gonna say I noticed that you look like you either lost some weight or grew another inch — maybe both —since high school. You look good , man.”

I snort to squash down the flutter his words send into my belly. “I look less fat. I’ve still got what could be very charitably called a ‘dad bod.’”

“ Stop . Really. You just said you don’t judge, but you’re judging yourself hard . And it’s not fair to you.” Since I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, I look down at my hands, trying to concentrate on the soothing, percussive sound of the rain.

“What’s the other thing?” Ran asks abruptly.

“What?”

“You said there were a couple things that kind of changed your outlook about bartending. What was the other one?”

“Oh.” I give him a rueful smile. “Realizing that nobody really gave a great goddamn what I had to say. I’m not getting paid to talk.

I’m not even getting paid to pour drinks.

People pay me to listen. As soon as I figured that out, things kind of clicked.

It’s almost like a script. I rattle off my lines, and they tell me what’s bothering them —the boss, the wife, you know.

” I laugh a little. “I’ve had customers say, hey, it’s cheaper than therapy. ”