Burner account, p.1
Burner Account, page 1
Burner Account
L.A. Witt
Contents
About Burner Account
1. Isaiah
2. Tanner
3. Isaiah
4. Tanner
5. Isaiah
6. Tanner
7. Isaiah
8. Tanner
9. Isaiah
10. Tanner
11. Isaiah
12. Tanner
13. Isaiah
14. Tanner
15. Isaiah
16. Tanner
17. Isaiah
18. Tanner
19. Isaiah
20. Tanner
21. Isaiah
22. Tanner
23. Isaiah
24. Tanner
25. Isaiah
26. Tanner
27. Isaiah
28. Tanner
29. Isaiah
Epilogue
Also by L.A. Witt
Also by L.A. Witt
About the Author
Copyright Information
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Burner Account
First edition
Copyright © 2023 L.A. Witt
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Cover Art by L.A. Witt
Editor: Mackenzie Walton
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at gallagherwitt@gmail.com
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Ebook ISBN: 978-1-64230-179-3
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-86412-301-0
Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-86412-311-9
Created with Vellum
About Burner Account
Isaiah Cole escapes his everyday life as a schoolteacher by debating—and trash talking—online under a fake name. For the past four years, his internet persona has been getting closer and closer to another user. They’re friends, and there’s even a little flirtation now and then… but the guy doesn’t know Isaiah’s real name, and they’ve never seen each other’s faces.
* * *
Until now.
* * *
Of all the men who could be behind his friend’s avatar, Isaiah is stunned to learn he’s been chatting with Tanner Jeffries, a jaw-droppingly gorgeous forward from his favorite hockey team.
* * *
As soon as they’re face-to-face, the chemistry is off the charts. They’re as inseparable in person as they are online, and their only regret is not doing this sooner.
* * *
But eventually, the novelty is going to wear off. And when it does…
* * *
How much can a broke, overweight average Joe actually offer a hot, rich, younger athlete?
* * *
Burner Account is an 83,000-word standalone M/M hockey romance.
Chapter 1
Isaiah
Nick: Aww, Rep. Walters blocked me! LOL
Ian: What? Why? Just because you called him a fascist?
Nick: I beg your pardon. I did not call him a fascist.
Ian: So I hallucinated that entire exchange?
Nick: No. But I called him a fascist dickweasel who jerks off thinking about the Spanish Inquisition.
Ian: Oooh. Right. Well, damn. I can’t imagine why he’d block you.
Nick: It was the dickweasel thing, wasn’t it? That was a step too far.
Ian: Absolutely.
Nick: Sigh.
Ian: If it’s any consolation, Senator Conway blocked me for politely asking if he was going to challenge his own win during the last election. I mean, he was voted in on the same ballots he’s calling fake, sooo…
Nick: Politely?
Ian: Well. I mean. I didn’t call him a dickweasel.
Nick: Mmhmm. There’s a lot of room between “politely” and “calling someone a dickweasel.”
Ian: I fail to see how that’s relevant.
Nick: Yeah, yeah. LOL
Ian: LOL Okay, I have to run. Heading to a hockey game. Talk to you later tonight?
Nick: Absolutely. Have fun tonight. Go Yellow Jackets!
Ian: Go Yellow Jackets!
Ian: Holy crap this game is a wild one. LOL And I’m still laughing about Rep. Walters blocking you.
Nick: I’m still laughing about you claiming your post to Senator Conway was “polite.”
Ian: You can’t prove it wasn’t!
Nick: Ugh. Only because it was deleted when you were blocked. Oppression! Communism!
Ian: LMAO Help! Help! I’m being repressed!
* * *
“So are you ever going to actually meet this guy?” Darren gestured with his beer can at my phone.
I finished sending the message. Then I put the phone facedown on my leg and stared out at the ice four rows down from where we were sitting. The sheet was currently deserted except for the pair of Zambonis, and I watched them rumbling around the arena as I pretended my cheeks weren’t on fire. “Maybe? Eventually?”
“Eventually?” My friend elbowed me. “Dude, you’ve been talking to him and saying ‘eventually’ for how long? When is ‘eventually’?”
“I don’t know. I…” I shook my head. “What if we meet and it ruins everything?”
Darren exhaled hard, rolled his eyes, and brought up his beer can for a sip.
Neither of us spoke for a while. We just watched the Zambonis. This wasn’t the first time he’d asked me about meeting Nick. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.
And lately…
Lately, I’d been leaning toward doing exactly that.
I glanced at my phone, which was still dormant on my leg, and gnawed my lower lip. Nick and I had so much in common. We chatted endlessly about anything and everything—politics (which was how we’d crossed paths in the first place), movies we both enjoyed, our love of animals, and the latest historical documentary we were obsessing over. He was as rabidly into hockey as I was, so we could talk for hours about the sport.
Well, “talk.”
Four years in, we’d never spoken on the phone or webcam. We’d never seen each other’s faces. Early on, we’d sort of danced around the subject, with both of us making excuses for keeping it to avatars, and then we’d just… never brought it up again.
I was painfully curious what he looked like. What he sounded like. The more we connected, the more he took up space in my mind… and the more I craved a look at him.
But there was a reason I had that account, and there was a reason I kept it separate from my real name, my real face, and my real life. If I met him, I’d be breaking the barrier between those two worlds, and that terrified me.
Squirming in my seat, I looked at Darren. “Okay, so hypothetically, what if I do meet Nick? What if things go to shit?”
Darren pursed his lips. “You don’t want to lose your friend.”
“Exactly. But also… I mean, there’s a reason I use an anonymous burner account, you know? What if things go to shit between us, and he tells the school district about my account or something?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Darren blew out a breath, deflating a little. “That would suck.”
It would. In fact, Darren was the one person in my entire world who knew about my account (though not my specific username). I’d confided in him about its existence both because he understood firsthand the stress of keeping aspects of one’s personal life out of the school district’s sight, and because I trusted him more than anyone else. I also had enough dirt on him to disincentivize outing me, which was why we’d joked for a long time about mutually assured destruction.
Had Nick and I crossed paths in any other realm—a gaming account, one of my real-life accounts, a dating app—then I wouldn’t have thought twice about meeting him or sending a photo. But I’d opened that account specifically so I could be a lot more outspoken about political issues than was compatible with my career (and do some less-than-professional shitposting when I was bored). The most I’d dared to do in my real life was moderately support certain political candidates and causes. Even that was enough to get people wringing their hands about me being “part of the woke mob” or “a leftist radical trying to indoctrinate our children.” Right. Because I totally had the power to brainwash the same kids I had to beg to finish assigned reading and properly format citations.
If my students’ parent ever found out the things I said when I was “Ian,” someone would need to bring fainting couches to the next schoolboard meeting. I didn’t even think I was that outrageous, but when you taught in a district where an innocuous rainbow decoration was interpreted as queer grooming, well, it wasn’t a good idea to broadcast that you believed certain lives mattered or that a few amendments might need some more modern interpretations. Add to that being openly gay and vocally pro-queer rights, and I was just asking to be professionally screwed over.
Hence… Ian.
And Ian was the person Nick knew.
If we met…
If he met Isaiah the middle school history teacher…
If the line blurred between Ian and Isaiah…
I shivered just thinking about those worlds colliding.
Okay, forget it. Meeting wasn’t a good idea. I had, for the millionth time, talked myself out of it.
Movement and activity pulled me out of my thoughts. People were starting to come back down to their seats with fresh beers and snacks, and the ice crew was cleaning up a few puddles from the Zambonis while someone put the nets back in place. The clock above center ice was counting down the last eight minutes of the first intermission. Thank God. I was wired now—the clash of fear over what could happen if I met Nick versus worry over what I might be missing by not meeting him had me twitchy and frustrated, and the fast pace of hockey would be a welcome distraction.
With seven minutes left on the clock, Darren said, “You’ve been talking to him for, what, three years now?”
I swallowed. “Almost four.”
“Right. And in that time, he hasn’t pushed at all for your name or a picture, or meeting—any of that. Right?”
I nodded.
Darren turned to me. “Maybe that means he’s got as much to lose as you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like you always joke that I’ll never out you because you’ve got dirt on me.” He shrugged. “You’ve got dirt on him, too, right?”
I considered it. “Except I have no idea what he does for a living. So that dirt might not matter.”
“But wouldn’t that explain why he hasn’t pushed for anything? If he didn’t have a reason to protect his own identity, he’d have sent you a picture by now.”
“Unless he’s catfishing me.”
Darren barked a laugh and elbowed me. “If he’s catfishing you, he’s seriously playing the long game.”
Pursing my lips, I stared up at the clock. Just over six minutes until I was gratefully distracted. “I… guess? Maybe?”
“So why not ask? Just throw it out there, and if he says no…” Darren half-shrugged like it was the most inconsequential thing in the world. “Then you keep going the way you’ve been going.”
He… might’ve had a point.
And now I was suddenly restless with that need to see Nick’s face and hear his voice. There was a connection between us—I could feel it—and if we took that connection offline, it could be amazing.
Or it could blow up in my stupid face.
Still, Darren’s comments needled at me. In fact, they needled me so much, I suddenly couldn’t think about anything else. And like hell was anything going to distract me from hockey.
“Okay. Fine. You win.” I took out my phone again and pulled up the app. “I’ll message him.”
Darren chuckled and patted my arm. “Good luck, man. I hope it works out.”
As I thumbed out a message, I hoped so too.
And then I sent the message.
And…
Hell. So much for concentrating on hockey.
Chapter 2
Tanner
“So are you ever going to actually meet this guy?” Bens—Nat Bennett—gestured at my phone with his glove.
I shoved my phone back into the pocket of the Pittsburgh Yellow Jackets windbreaker hanging in my locker stall. As I sat down, I said, “He’s just a friend.”
“Okay.” Bens dropped onto the bench as well and rubbed a towel over his sweaty face and hair. “So he’s a friend. Why not meet him?”
I took a swig of Gatorade. “He’s an online friend.”
Bens cocked a brow. Then he shook his head and continued toweling himself off.
Fortunately, Coach picked that moment to start in on his intermission speech, which gave me an excuse to not continue this conversation.
Didn’t do much to get my concentration away from what Bens had said about Ian, though. Several of my teammates had suggested meeting him. They’d caught me smiling stupidly at my phone so many times, now they’d just say, “Tell Ian we said hi.” Every time I spent more than thirty seconds talking to a man they didn’t know, or if I posted a vacation photo with a new face in it—even if it was just a selfie with a fan—I’d get grilled about whether that was him.
Hell, their partners had gotten in on the action. Tami, Adamo’s wife, had declared last Thanksgiving that, “I can always tell when you’ve been talking to him.” She’d gestured at her own face. “The way you smile—it’s a dead giveaway.”
“Aaron and I met online,” Emily, who was engaged to Bucks, told me. “It’s always kind of scary to meet someone, especially if you’ve already made a connection, because they might not live up to it. But sometimes…” She’d grinned and held up her left hand, indicating the giant rock on her third finger. “It works out!”
I got that. I really did. And the truth was, I’d have loved to meet Ian in person. Or even see a photo of him. I wished I could work up the courage to send a photo of myself. Hell, just enough courage to tell him my real name.
Not that he’d believe me.
But man, the thought of talking face to face did things to my heart I couldn’t quite define. Sometimes I thought I had feelings for him. Sometimes I thought that was stupid, because how could I have feelings for someone I’d never even met? And then other times I’d shut all that down because no shit I had feelings for Ian. It didn’t matter that all I had was words on a screen. He was funny, and smart, and we could rant and rave about politics and hockey and never get bored.
Was it too much to hope we’d be the same way in person?
And, like, we’d connected because a person I followed had reposted something Ian had written in response to some dickweed saying that being gay was all about sex and nothing else. Ian had argued that if gay men didn’t fall in love, he wouldn’t know what it was like to have his heart stomped on. I’d reposted it, adding that, for fuck’s sake, our community hadn’t pushed for marriage equality just for spite. Then I’d followed Ian. He’d followed me back. After a few weeks of liking and reposting each other’s posts, he’d messaged me privately to snark about someone we’d both been arguing with. Then we’d just… kept messaging, and that was that.
So we’d known from the very, very start that we were both gay. We’d learned very quickly that we were on the same page about more things than not. In fact, about the only things we really disagreed on were football (I loved the Broncos and he hated the sport), pizza toppings (olives made me gag), and whether that one overtime goal during last year’s Cup final should’ve been called back (no way had that puck fully crossed the line, but whatever).
There was undeniably a connection, and we could talk about things that so many people in our lives didn’t understand, and… yeah, no shit I had feelings for him.
Why couldn’t I have this with someone I knew face to face?
And would meeting him in person break that spell?
Or would I wonder why in the world I’d waited so damn long? Especially when I knew he lived in the same city?
Except I knew why I’d waited. Why I was still hesitating. I was a public figure, and I had created Nick so I could still speak openly about political issues and crack jokes online. The whole point of that persona had been so I could be myself without anyone knowing it was me. If I let the lines blur between Nick and Tanner, then someone could connect me Nick’s posts. I didn’t say horrible things or anything—though I could get creatively profane when I was taking on a terrible politician or a troll—but even cursing online or daring to have political opinions absolutely could land me in hot water with my club or the League.
