Page 12 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

I check the time on my phone; Delilah should be awake by now. The red notification on my messages sends a jolt of energy through me, waking me up.

Only a handful of people text me. My boss, my sister, a couple friends, and Delilah. And 90 percent of the time, it’s Delilah.

I’m like Pavlov’s fucking dog. When I get a text notification, I salivate for a treat—attention from my girl.

But I’m disappointed when I open my texts to one from my number two best friend, CJ. I’ve known the guy since birth, but he got bumped from the top spot the second I met Delilah. He’s the best fuckin’ guy and I’m lucky as hell he puts up with my bullshit.

He’s got that dark hair-skin-eyes combo that makes anyone melt. He’s never had an issue making friends, charming teachers and employers, or getting laid.

The best thing about him though, is he’s gay as fuck. I say that with the utmost respect, both because he’s one of the best humans I know, but also because I didn’t have to cut him out of my life for coveting Delilah—like all my other friends did over the years.

Call me a possessive asshole, but the second anyone showed interest in Delilah, they were dead to me. No way in hell was I going to let another guy come between me and my doll.

She’s been mine since I was eight years old, and she’ll be mine long after we’re dead in the ground.

That’s one of the reason’s I’m so grateful CJ’s my right-hand man. He and Delilah get along famously, but he finds her glorious tits repulsive, and that suits me just fine.

He came out to me and his parents in fifth grade. We weren’t surprised or affected whatsoever. CJ’s always been unapologetically CJ, and the fact he liked boys went over like he was announcing he passed his math test.

When we were in middle school, he didn’t just come out of the closet. He decorated it, put on a show, and made it a VIP lounge for anyone who wanted to join. He loved without apologies, wore his heart on his sleeve, and made sure everyone around him was safe to do the same.

He’s why Swiftwater High has a thriving LGBTQ+ club and why the whole town comes out for the local Pride festival each June.

You wouldn’t necessarily think a middle-of-nowhere ranching town would be so open minded, but I’m proud as fuck to live in the town that accepted CJ and paved the path of safety for everyone else to live their truth.

All I want to do is get my girl in my arms, but he’ll come to my fucking apartment if I don’t text him back within his acceptable timeframe, and checking the timestamp, I’m cutting it close.

CJ: Hey Loverboy, how was moving day?

CJ: I’d already know if you hadn’t blown me off for your fucking job. Rude.

CJ: Don’t be a bitch. The buildup is killing me. I need to know EVERYTHING!

CJ: Okay, I gave you time to come to your senses and spill. If I don’t get a text before 8:00 a.m., I’m protesting outside your apartment. I’ll make a sign that says CONNOR AND DELILAH SITTING IN A TREE, F-U-C-K-I-N-G.

Goddamn it, this is why he always gets his way. Because he’s relentless and has impeccable follow-through.

Me: Dude, you’ve gotta chill. Some of us don’t work from our phones and can’t respond instantaneously.

CJ: Excuses. Now spill or I’m coming over and outing your ass.

Me: I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

CJ: Mmhmm. Same lie, different day.

CJ: I’m waiting…

Me: What do you want?

CJ: I want to know if your bride was delivered to your homestead.

CJ: Did you carry her over the threshold?

CJ: Oh my gawd, that would be so romantic.

Me: Why do I tell you things?

CJ: Because you love me. Stop avoiding the question.