Grindr Date.

River’s POV

I was lying on the couch, scrolling through my phone. My thumb hovered over Grindr for a long second before I tapped it open.

There he was.

GlazedDonut69.

Still online.

Still flirty.

GlazedDonut69: So? You wanna come over? I got wine, candles, and absolutely no expectations.

TwinkSpiceLatte: Candles? What is this, The Bachelor?

GlazedDonut69: Only if you give me the final rose.

I smiled. It wasn’t a real smile, but it was close enough.

I stared at the screen for a full minute. Then I typed:

TwinkSpiceLatte: Send your address. I’ll be there in 20.

The second I sent it, my heart did a weird thing in my chest. Not panic. Not excitement either. Just a tight little squeeze like are you really doing this?

I was.

I needed to feel something. Even if it wasn’t real.

Even if it didn’t last.

Even if it made me feel worse after.

He lived in a small apartment not far from the university. I changed into a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and sprayed cologne even though I wasn’t sure why.

I stared at myself in the mirror before leaving.

Hair—fine. Skin—still tired. Eyes—don’t look too closely.

I took a breath and walked out.

It was already dark when I reached his place. A three-story building with peeling paint and loud music coming from one of the upstairs windows. I checked the apartment number twice before knocking.

The door opened fast.

And there he was.

GlazedDonut69.

Real name: Marcus.

Shorter than I expected. Curly brown hair. A little older than his profile picture. Shirtless. Wearing plaid pajama pants and holding a glass of wine in one hand.

“River?” he asked, like maybe I was catfishing him.

“Yeah,” I said, hands stuffed in my pockets. “Hey.”

He smiled. “Come in. I don’t bite. Unless requested.”

I snorted. “That line’s older than the internet.”

“Still works sometimes.”

His apartment was small but clean. There were candles, like he promised, and a bottle of cheap red wine on the counter. A movie was paused on the TV—some action thing with bad explosions.

He handed me a glass without asking and plopped down on the couch.

I stayed standing for a second.

“You can sit,” he said. “I won’t pounce. Not unless you want me to.”

I gave a small laugh and sat on the other end of the couch.

He pressed play on the movie, and we sat there in silence for a few minutes, watching as a guy in a leather jacket shot people and yelled about justice.

Marcus turned toward me. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

“Only when I have something to say.”

He sipped his wine. “Fair.”

I took a sip of mine. It was bad. Like it came from a gas station with a sticker that said fruity red blend.

But I drank it anyway.

“Rough week?” he asked after a bit.

“You could say that.”

“Ex?”

I looked at him. “Yeah.”

He nodded like he understood. “Mine left me for a guy named Caden who owns a protein powder business. I can’t compete with that.”

I laughed, for real this time. “Yeah, that’s tough.”

“I mean, who picks muscles over vibes?”

“Apparently, a lot of people.”

He shrugged. “Their loss.”

The wine made my head feel light. Or maybe it was just being here, in this warm little room with a stranger who didn’t expect anything from me but maybe a kiss and a few hours of pretending.

His hand brushed mine.

I didn’t pull away.

“You’re cute,” he said. “I like your face.”

“Thanks.”

He leaned in a little. “Do you want to kiss me?”

I hesitated.

My heart was beating weird again.

Not fast. Just… confused.

“Yeah,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure.

His lips were soft. His hands were gentle. He kissed me slow, like he thought I might run.

I didn’t run.

But I didn’t melt either.

He kissed down my neck, touched my waist, murmured something about how warm my skin was.

I kissed him back. Let his hands move.

But my mind kept drifting.

To Daniel.

To his voice. His hands. His mouth.

The way he looked at me like I was something he couldn’t have but wanted anyway.

Marcus pulled back slightly, breathless. “Want to move to the bed?”

I stared at him.

His eyes were kind. His touch was kind.

But it didn’t feel right.

I sat up a little. “I’m sorry.”

He blinked. “What?”

I shook my head. “I—I can’t. I thought I could. I wanted to try, but…”

I pulled my hoodie sleeves over my hands, twisting the fabric. “I just can’t tonight.”

His face changed. It was quick. Like a cloud blocking the sun.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I mean… I’m not ready,” I said softly. “I thought I was, but I’m not. I’m sorry.”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“I lit candles for you,” he said. “I opened my wine. You said you wanted to come over.”

“I did. I do. I mean—” I rubbed my face. “I needed a distraction. But this feels… wrong.”

“Wrong?” He stood up suddenly. The soft air in the room snapped into something colder. “You know, it’s really something how people like you think they can just waste other people’s time.”

“I didn’t mean to waste—”

He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Oh, sure. You didn’t mean to. You just wanted some attention. Needed someone to stroke your ego because your ex ran off or whatever. Typical.”

I stood too. My heart was pounding in my throat. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is inviting me into your little pity party just so you can flake out the second things get real.”

“I never promised anything,” I said, my voice shaking. “And I said I was sorry.”

“Save it.” He grabbed the wine glass I’d barely touched and dumped it in the sink. “Door’s that way.”

I looked at him one last time, hoping for some softness, anything.

But his face was flat. Hard. The candles flickered behind him, making his shadow stretch across the floor like something sharp.

I grabbed my phone and slipped it into my pocket.

“I should go,” I said, more to myself than him.

He didn’t reply. Just walked past me, yanked open the door, and stood there waiting.

I stepped into the hall. The air was cooler out here, but not by much.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind me.

Loud.

Like thunder in a quiet church.

I flinched.

The hallway was empty. The light buzzed above my head. Somewhere, far off, I heard a baby crying behind another door.

I stood there for a second, trying to catch my breath.

Trying to gather what was left of me.

I didn’t know why my hands were shaking so bad. He didn’t hit me. He didn’t scream. He just… didn’t care.

And maybe that’s what hurt most.

I took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. My feet felt heavy. My chest felt hollow.

When I stepped outside, the air hit me full in the face. Cold and sharp and too real.

I walked without thinking. My hands deep in my pockets. My hoodie pulled tight over my head.

The streetlights made everything gold and lonely. My phone buzzed once again after I had ignored the first buzz.

I looked down.

Noah: You good? Haven’t heard from you.

Noah: You at home yet?

I typed out a reply. Then deleted it.

Then typed another.

Me: I’m fine. Just needed air.

A lie.

He replied right away.

Noah: Okay. Call me if you need me. Seriously.

I tucked the phone away. My fingers were cold.

The walk home was long and quiet. I passed a cat curled on a porch. A couple arguing in hushed tones. A neon sign blinking over a closed pizza shop.

When I finally reached my apartment, I stood outside for a minute, staring at the door.

It looked the same as always. The little scratch near the handle. The sticker Ethan put there last fall.

But everything felt different now.

I unlocked it and stepped inside.

The silence hit hard.

I kicked off my shoes and let my hoodie drop onto the floor. I didn’t turn on the light.

I walked straight to the couch and sat down in the dark.

It still smelled like lemon cleaner. From earlier.

I pulled my knees to my chest and leaned my head back, even though I’d wanted to feel something—anything—tonight, all I felt now was small.

And stupid.

And tired.

I closed my eyes and thought about the way Marcus’s face changed.

From playful to cold.

I hated that I still remembered the look in his eyes.

Like I was a waste of time.

Like I was the joke.

I wiped my face roughly, even though I didn’t know if I was crying.

I didn’t want to be this person. This… lost, lonely person who went to strangers’ apartments hoping for something warm and came back with bruises no one could see.

I pulled my phone out again and opened my texts.

I hovered over Daniel’s name.

But I didn’t type anything.

He wouldn’t want to hear it.

Or maybe he would.

But it wouldn’t change anything.

I clicked off the screen and tossed the phone across the couch.