Page 2 of The Cubby Hole

A lot of the people we knew from the campground we rarely saw any other time, but after meeting the same faces again and again over two decades, holiday weekends here had taken on the feeling of a chosen-family reunion.

We were already feeling the pressure to do something major next year for the big four-oh, but since thirty-nine was a bit meh, when Ben had suggested getting some of the guys together at Bear Mountain Lodge for the long weekend, I’d said, “Sure. Why not?”

The campground hosted a themed dance night at the Cubby Hole on Fridays during the big weekends of the season. Since that coincided with our birthday this year, it was an instant party we didn’t have to plan.

We puttered around the cabin. I set out toiletries on the bathroom counter while Ben checked the temperature on the hot tub, then put away groceries and stocked the fridge with beverages. My clothes would live in my bags until I needed something, then they’d end up disgorged in heaps before the weekend was over. Ben wouldn’t put his away in the chest of drawers either, but they’d remain in neat stacks.

“Eric, you want something else to eat, or”—Ben held up a bottle of beer—“are you ready for a drink?”

We’d grabbed burgers on the way out of town, knowing we’d arrive after the lodge had served dinner.

“I’m still full, but you may want to start with this.” I pulled the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from my pack. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, in the clear. “A little early birthday present.”

Ben mixed us Jack and Cokes, and we perched on the kitchen stools sipping them like we were at a bar.

“We could go check out The Hole.” Ben never tired of shortening the name.

“Dude, I doubt anybody’s gonna be there. People with real jobs have Monday off, so nobody’s coming until tomorrow. Plus, it’s like, what, seven forty-five?”

“When are the others getting here?”

I ticked off the names of various friends who’d replied to the email. “The boys in the band texted and said midday tomorrow. What about Paul?”

“Late afternoon. He’s setting up a tent site, but he’ll be done in time for the party.”

“So it’s just you and me tonight?”

Ben nodded. “Is that cool?”

“Yeah.” I sounded more nonchalant than I felt. It actually surprised me a bit. I could think of plenty of times Ben had stolen up here a day early to prowl around on his own without having to worry about running into me or any of our friends from town. It reminded me of something else I’d been meaning to ask him.

“What kinds of pics do you have on your dating app profiles?”

Ben’s eyebrows shot up his forehead and then crashed in a scowl. “Uh…”

“I’m not asking to look at them.” Maybe I was. I wouldn’t have said no. “I just haven’t been on a dating site in a while, and I kinda need some points of comparison. I mean, you have no problem hooking up, and as much as I’d be the first to tell anyone all your great qualities as a human being, you’re also muscly, furry, handsome…”

Ben’s scowl deepened. “What are you asking me?”

“To be really blunt, I know you’re a bottom, but you have a really big dick. I’m assuming you put that out there, right?”

He scoffed like he was offended. “I actually don’t have any profiles anymore.”

“Oh, please, Ben, Bear Killer. Since when?”

“A… few months ago.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“Nope. Deleted all my accounts. Took all the apps off my phone. I can show you.” He reached into his pocket.

“I don’t need to see your phone—”

But he had already unlocked it and offered it to me. When I didn’t take it, he leaned his shoulder against mine, sharing the screen and swiping through. “See? No Scruff, no Grindr, no Growlr…”

I’d only recently decided to get back out there. I hadn’t been looking for Ben online, but I’d assumed I hadn’t seen him because he’d friend-blocked me. I always blocked my platonic friends on the apps so we wouldn’t keep running into each other while cruising online. I didn’t want anybody judging my Zoolander face, my shirtless torso, or, God forbid, my junk. It gave everybody a little bit of privacy, and it didn’t crowd out the profiles I wanted to see when I selected local view.

I’d also thought maybe Ben was using something really anonymous these days with no recognizable face shot as his profile pic. He could totally get away with eyes without a face, just a close up of his pretty blue eyes. Although, if Ben of all people didn’t have his gorgeous, smiling mug on a profile pic, nobody should.