The Hockey Captain’s Obsession
I don't think arrows twitch like that.
That night, Oliver lay in his small, cramped apartment. The rent was overdue. The student loan emails were piling up.
He needed an escape.
He pulled out his phone and opened Tinder. He didn't use his real face, just a photo of his torso in a tight t-shirt. His profile name was simply "Oli."
Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left.
Then, he paused.
A profile popped up. User: X. 28 years old.
There was no face. Just a photo of a man's chest and abs, taken in a mirror. The body was incredible, broad shoulders, defined obliques, and veins running down muscular arms. He was wearing dark sunglasses in the second photo, sitting by a pool at night.
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