Desiring an Angel, page 4
part #1 of Missing Link 3 Series
Thank God I hadn’t inherited the slightly pointed tips of our mother’s like she had. It was bad enough having a river of red hair, pale lashes, and big green eyes like a Disney character.
“Well can you at least tell me what ones they were talking about?” I pushed, expecting guidance in this thing would be better than my usual traipsing along without direction.
“I will not.” She pursed her lips again as though disgusted by the whole conversation she had started. “And it would be best if you didn’t bother with such nonsense, Skylar. God knows you have enough problems as it is. We don’t need your foolhardiness bringing stalkers and rapists to my front door.”
Heat flushed through me even as I held in a snort. Arguing with someone as intelligent as my brainiac twin, even if she had zero people skills or street smarts, would be a waste of my time.
I’d never won an argument against her.
We washed and dried our dishes like we’d done since childhood on our parent’s farm in South Dakota, side by side, silent in our personal musings. She probably daydreamed about stars and supernovas or whatever they were called while I thought about hookups. Dating apps. Bursting from the inside out between two men.
Give me all the happily ever afters had always been my motto when browsing for new books at the library back home in the middle of nowhere, but their romance collection paled in comparison to the one in the big city.
The move hadn’t just opened my senses to nonstop noise, light in the night sky no matter the hour, and smells I hadn’t even known existed, but it had also introduced Annie Kelly’s words upon words of smut that made my nipples ache and panties damp.
Two men loving on their woman at the same time, kissing each other while she came undone between them had become my new favorite bedtime story. The female character watching her two men love on one other, a close second.
I struggled to stand still while waiting for Nora to methodically rinse each dish before handing it to me.
“Spare time isn’t good for you,” she said while unplugging the drain when she finally finished with the washing. “You need to find a job.”
“I’m trying,” I muttered, hanging up the damp tea towel on the stove handle and remembering how the Google search I’d done after getting fired had given me a headache.
“Well try harder. Use up your ridiculous energy tomorrow going store to store until someone hires you. I agreed to Mom and Dad’s suggestion of letting you live with me, but you’ve got to find something that makes you money and gets you out of my house.”
“If you don’t want me here, just say so,” I snipped, hands on my hips.
Lips pursed, she shook her head and glanced out the window overlooking her small backyard. “Some days, I just need space.”
Nora had always been a recluse who enjoyed silence. Of course my noise and constant fumbling around the house drove her nuts like it always had when we’d been kids.
Worked up and my mind too occupied with dating apps to start yet another book, I headed to my room and stripped out of the jean shorts I’d made from an old pair of secondhand dungarees for the comfort of cotton sleep shorts.
The seed Nora had planted in my head sat ready to burst into a full-blown, squirrel-covered oak tree.
Why not attempt going out on a limb to find what I craved? What did I stand to lose besides a bit more worth in my sister’s eyes?
If I even have any left…
A quiet question to Siri about dating apps slipped past my frowning lips as I sank onto the edge of my bed.
Dozens of search results filled the screen, overwhelming my ability to process words.
I asked Siri about menage dating apps instead.
Missing Link was listed first, the brief writeup by the search engine fluttering desire inside me. That was what I wanted to be. A link between two men. Either a bridge or the piece of a puzzle a loving bisexual couple wanted to complete their life.
My heart sped up as I clicked the hyperlink, the logo on the download page brightening my smile. Three intertwined rainbow-colored hearts.
This is it.
Giddy, I collapsed onto my back in the middle of my bed with more dramatic flair than any cartoon princess and clicked on the download button. My grin felt wide as a dork, and I hoped the cell wouldn’t give face recognition any shit.
A tiny squeal left me as the download process began.
“Open,” I whispered the breathless word while tapping the phone’s screen.
I scrolled and clicked through the app, riveted by testimonials from people who had found the love they’d craved or had fantasized about. Dozens of variations rolled past. Three men. Three women. Two women and a man. A husband and wife finding their submissive. Two Doms sharing a twink—whatever that was.
Every positive, glowing review tickled my insides until I squirmed. Wiggling my way against the headboard, I pursed my lips and exhaled loudly.
“Okay.” Lower lip between my teeth, I clicked on the ten-day free trial button that beckoned to my soul like a steaming cup of coffee. I input my name, which the app allowed people to keep private before stalling out on a username to identify me.
@AntsyFeet?
@ScatterBrain?
@FocusingFailure?
“Ugh.” I slumped, my thumbs hovering over the screen’s keyboard. Red Robin, the nickname Dad had given me because I sang way too often as a kid regardless of my inability to carry a tune flitted through my head. That sounded negative in my head though.
I wouldn’t catch flies with vinegar, but honey…that was a different draw.
@RedHeadedRayofSunshine.
The positive description burst into my mind, and my grin returned. Perhaps the description tended toward too much, but my favorite English teacher from middle school had called me a burst of sunshine once, and the nickname had brightened my day.
So, yes. I named myself a ray of sunshine with red hair, stating I sought two men. I clicked on relationships rather than hookups and dove into the rest.
As with any test, I agonized over every question as I went through the profile creation. Having compared myself to my twin’s type A personality my entire life, I knew exactly where I sat in that alphabet. A solid B with nothing else sprinkled in for extra flavoring.
A half hour had passed, and my brain had exhausted itself. I was left with the final task—writing a brief summary of who and what I was to go along with a profile picture.
I basically needed to create an ad for myself.
“Oh shit.” I giggled since marketing was definitely beyond my mental skills. “Let’s start with a picture.”
I scrolled through the few selfies I’d taken in the previous couple of months since Nora had purchased the cell for me, but nothing about my makeup-less face screamed “hottie you’ll want for life.”
Grimacing, I scrolled until I reached the beginning of my phone’s images.
Nothing.
Huffing, I lifted my cell, tucked some wild hair behind my thankfully rounded ear, and kept my smile to a minimum. I blinked in the flash and burst into giggles at the awful half-lidded image on the screen.
I tried again and snorted a chuckle.
A third time.
Fourth.
By the fifth, I growled beneath my breath while clicking. I’d managed to keep my eyes open, but I looked constipated. Another burst of laughter escaped me, and I clicked another photo just for the hell of it before my giggles stopped.
“Well.” My grin widened as I studied the candid shot. “Not too bad!”
I saved my laughing profile pic, the only one I’d managed that looked like the real me, then proceeded to agonize once more over writing an ad about myself that would lure the men I hoped to find.
My brain hurt to the point I couldn’t think, same as with anytime I’d neared the end of a test in school. But since I couldn’t just shade in alphabetized circles to guess at answers, I jotted down brief, unconnected tidbits about who I was.
A poor farm girl wishing to be barefoot and pregnant in a kitchen. One, five, or ten kids—I just wanted some of my own to love unconditionally. I dreamed about two men thanks to my newest favorite MMF author. They must love coffee. I promised organized closets and silly happiness and laughter.
Without rereading or second-guessing my brief bio, I saved my profile and sagged against my pillows propped against my headboard.
I’d never been one to pursue when it came to men, but I’d managed to lose my virginity fresh out of high school. I’d also dated an asshole farmer back home for six months before he grew weary of me and found someone quieter, more subdued.
While I didn’t have extensive experience, I’d read and had daydreams aplenty.
A yawn attempted to split my face in half, so I exited the app before I got caught up in searching. Too many of the profile’s identifying terms had boggled my mind. I would trust Missing Link to match me with what I hoped to find, same as it had done for thousands before me.
I stripped down to my panties and climbed under my blankets, thoughts of dark-haired princes riding in on white stallions pulling me into sleep. Not only did they promise multiple orgasms, fantasies fulfilled, and incandescent delight, but they loved everything about me—quirks and all.
5
Ashton
I woke on the worst day of the year without my lover beside me for the first time since we had moved in together. Heaviness sat on my chest like it always did, and I rolled to escape its weight, grabbing my cell phone from the bedside table.
Rhett had texted me. Thinking about you this morning. I love you more than life.
My eyes welled, but I smiled while typing out a good morning and assurance of my love for him as well. How’s your mom? I asked.
Rhett: No change. Any luck on ML?
My smile faded at his answer and his just as depressing question. I texted back a simple No.
Missing Link had matched us with a couple of women since Rhett had flown to Florida, but none of them had pinged my interest. Stubbornly, I held onto hope.
While Rhett would have made a plan to search through profiles, he was focused on his parents. His mother still lay in a coma, but other than facts about her health and his father’s refusal to discuss the situation, I couldn’t get a feel on Rhett. Even with FaceTime, I hadn’t been able to read how he fared.
Any inquiry I made about his emotions had him answering with his usual “I’m fine.”
I hated that I couldn’t break him out of his shell beyond his showing of affection for me. It had been enough in the past, but I found myself craving more from him. I might understand how he dealt with situations, but I longed to know the emotions behind them he never voiced or owned. The thoughts that helped make his decisions. I wanted the stirrings of his innermost being expressed so I could share in them too.
But he wasn’t there, and I couldn’t poke him to distract me from my grief.
I could feel the desire for sunshine for both of us in the deepest parts of my soul like a tangible well of need. Mine had been present since Archer had passed.
I spent a reflective morning walking on the beach behind our home, recalling the best memories of his and my childhood before leukemia took him from us not long after we had turned nine.
He’d been so happy all the time, smiling in the face of illness and even death. Laughter and bright grins regardless of his pain. Sunbeams of light to the darkness that had begun to overshadow me when I learned at too young of an age that my other half wouldn’t grow old with me.
I’d lived twenty-six years without Archer but only three truly alone.
Rhett had partially filled the chasm left by Archer’s death, and I couldn’t imagine living without him. We had accomplished so much together. Moved across the country, tossed our dating app into cyberspace with our fingers crossed—and greatly reaped the benefits when our baby took off and began fulfilling others’ dreams.
Overlooking the ocean and filling my lungs with the scent of saltwater, I reminded myself how good we had it, how grateful I ought to be.
But that need for more weighed heavily on my mind.
Hunger pangs turned my feet through warm sand, back toward our quiet, empty house. Silence rang in my ears, a reminder of loneliness, and the stinging eyes upon waking returned to haunt me.
Although I wasn’t hungry, I forced myself to eat a piece of toast. Travel mug refilled with sweetened black coffee, I curled up on the couch with my iPad, ready to FaceTime with Rhett.
My insides tightened over his appearance when he answered. His gorgeous face looked as haggard as I felt, eyes tired with dark shading beneath.
“You aren’t sleeping,” I stated instead of a hello, noting his AirPods and the fact he moved through a hospital corridor, his button-down shirt a bit rumpled compared to normal.
“Because you aren’t here,” he answered while entering what appeared to be a small waiting room. He settled into a chair and released a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging.
“I told you I’ll come to you if that’s what you need.”
“No.” Lips pursed, Rhett shook his head.
I knew why he preferred I stay at home rather than be by his side in a hushed, sterile environment that smelled like bleach and sickness, and I loved him all the more for it.
The thought of any hospital or doctor’s office stirred nausea to life in my stomach. Even going to my yearly physical proved beyond painful, and pre-visit stress always had me hugging the toilet for a few days prior.
“How is she?” I asked, pushing against the worst memories that weaseled into my head with the anniversary of my twin’s death.
“No change.” Rhett’s tone and the same short answer he’d been giving me since arriving in Florida didn’t reveal his feelings over learning his mother was brain-dead and breathing only because of life support.
His father sat by her side every hour allowed by the hospital, withdrawn and refusing to discuss the next steps that needed to be taken. Mr. Stirling showed no emotion either, Rhett had told me, silent and seemingly unaffected by his wife’s demise.
“How are you?” Rhett asked, and I allowed him the turn of conversation, filling him in on my surprisingly peaceful morning and how I’d managed to keep my own sadness to a minimum for a change. While the beach walk hadn’t brought about happiness, it had kept depression at bay.
“When we hang up,” he said, “I want you to get on the app and search—”
“I prefer for ML to find her for us, Rhett,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. He knew how I felt about forcing something that wasn’t meant to be. I’d tried for three years and had failed every single time with women I thought might be a good match for us. “It’s what we created the app for—let her do her work.”
Lips tight, Rhett nodded. The hand rubbing over his scruffy jaw indicated his annoyance, but he didn’t argue.
My cell pinged from the cushion beside me, and I glanced down to find the Missing Link logo staring up at me. The slight, lingering heaviness over my heart dissipated as though swept away by a strong wind.
“What?” Rhett asked, and I realized I smiled.
“We have a match.” I propped my iPad on my drawn-up knees and grabbed my cell.
Rhett stayed silent while I opened the phone’s app.
“Red Headed Ray of Sunshine.” I read the woman’s profile name, an actual chuckle rumbling through my chest. The small avatar didn’t offer much at first glance, so I clicked on her image and swiped my fingers open across the screen to zoom in.
“Well?” Rhett prompted while I studied the woman.
“She’s a redhead. Green eyes caught twinkling with laughter.” A zap of excitement raced through me. “No makeup. Freckles. She’s stunning, Rhett. Absolutely beautiful.”
“What does her write-up say?”
A twinge of guilt twisted through me from having focused on her appearance. I tended toward shallow at times, looking for physical attraction first while Rhett would have preferred to see their retirement plan.
“She’s twenty-four,” I noted—perfect age to bear children if she was able and willing.
“Too young.” Rhett grunted over the eleven-year age difference between her and us.
I ignored him.
The short summary she’d written about herself spilled from my lips as I rushed through the words, my grin stretching with every fragmented sentence she’d typed out.
“She’s perfect,” I whispered, flipping back to her profile picture and imagining her barefoot, belly swollen with my child, her laughter in our ears and Rhett’s happiness evident on his face.
“No woman is perfect,” Rhett stated, but I brushed off his warning, too caught up in the fantasy of her sunshine filling us both up to overflowing.
Of all the days to find the woman to brighten our lives…
“It’s fate, Rhett,” I whispered. “I know it—I can feel it.”
Rhett grunted, and I shot him a frown. “It’s possible,” I insisted.
“You need to guard your heart and not let your emotions override your better sense.”
“I’m going to poke her,” I stated, not heeding the advice I’d heard countless times.
“I would prefer to run a background check on her first, Ash.”
He had done so with every single type A woman Missing Link had matched us with, going behind the scenes to retrieve their personal information. I had felt all kinds of wrong doing so, like it was an act of invading privacy, but Rhett’s plans for finding us the right woman wouldn’t be swayed off course.
“No,” I stated firmly, determined to allow things to evolve organically for a change. “No more manipulating the outcomes. You made the decision to give this a shot one last time, so we’re going to do it my way. No sneakiness. No vetting before poking. No digging into a woman’s past to make sure they measure up to your high standards.”
