Chapter 4 – pippa
PIPPA
“Ialready ordered for you.”
Any hope I had for this date going well dies painfully the second Jesse utters that sentence. Presumption is one of my number-one pet peeves.
My smile tightens. “You did? What did you order?”
Jesse grins. “Etherium had a legit killer day, so we have to drink some champers to celebrate, bro.”
“Oh.” Now I can’t even pretend to smile.
I hate champagne. I know, I know—champagne is like chocolate and puppies, and everyone is supposed to love it.
Not me. It’s too acidic and has way too many bubbles.
I occasionally drink it for Cat’s sake, since it’s her absolute favorite, but I would never order it for myself.
Not to mention, we were supposed to be drinking hot chocolate.
It’s the only Christmasy thing about this whole date.
Otherwise, it’s just a normal dinner at Terrace Steakhouse.
The restaurant downstairs from our apartment is nice and all—in fact, there are couples sitting all around us on dates that seem to be going much better—but it’s no different than any other time I came here with Cat and Nate.
Jesse doesn’t seem to notice my disappointment. He’s far too busy scrolling his phone.
“Yo, hold up,” he says. “BTC just jumped, so I have to unload some shit. BTC is Bitcoin, by the way.”
Oh, god. This date is going from bad to worse, and fast.
I guess I can’t be that surprised. Jesse is definitely not my type, with his chinos and tech bro fleece zip-up. The app said his favorite book was Freakonomics, for fuck’s sake. He has about as much imagination as a physics textbook.
What Jesse does have going for him is being the best of my eight matches. Sure, he looks like the preppy villain in an 80s movie, but at least he didn’t proudly show off a wall full of hunting knives in his profile. A douchebag, I can handle. I don’t have the cardio to fight off a serial killer.
Our server approaches with a champagne bucket. He sets it next to the table, pulls out the bottle, and uncorks it for us. Even though I definitely don’t want it, I still smile politely when he pours me a glass. “Thank you.”
Jesse doesn’t bother thanking the server. He does lean over when the guy walks away though to whisper, “That’s grim. Stuck working this shitty job cause he won’t go in on the market. Way to fumble the bag. But whatever. Somebody’s got to flip the burgers, right?”
Jesus Christ. I’m really starting to regret turning down the hunting knives dude. I pull out my own phone and type up a message to Cat under the table.
Pippa
SOS. I’m on a date at Terrace with an evil techbro. Come downstairs and save me.
Before I can even press send, another text pops up.
Ryan
Dickface McCrypto is staring at your tits.
Wait, how does Ryan know I’m out with a tech bro? I whip my head around, scanning the restaurant for his messy dark hair. Unless he’s developed some serious psychic powers, he must be watching me from somewhere.
I practically fall out of my seat when I spot him barely six feet away from me.
His lean frame leans against the bar, his brown eyes sparkling as he watches me.
For a second, my heart hammers in my chest. I’m suddenly aware how the cool air feels against the upper swell of my breasts, exposed by the low sweetheart neckline of my black shirt.
How long has he been watching me?
My eyes shift back to Jesse, who is, yes, looking right at my tits. I put my hands on my neck, blocking the view with my forearms.
“So, uh, you’re in finance?” I ask. Not that I’m exactly excited to hear about Jesse’s job, but I need to distract myself from my stalker stepbrother.
“Crypto trading,” Jesse says. “You ever think about getting in the game?”
“Uh, I have a 401k at work.”
“Legit.” Jesse nods. “When you decide to upgrade, I’ll tell you exactly where to put your coin.”
“Uh, thanks. And I work as a writer at Belladonna Magazine.”
Of course, his eyes glaze over the second I start talking about myself. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles. “Yeah, one second.”
He turns back to his phone, which has been sitting face-up on the table since he got here. He’s not even pretending to pay attention to me. I guess I’m one to talk, because my own phone lights up with a text from Ryan.
Ryan
Your date is riveting. Get him to tell you more about his coin.
Pippa
Aren’t you supposed to be in San Diego right now? Great city. Far, far away.
Ryan
Tournament was last night. I won, obviously. Slept in late and came back just in time to watch this natural disaster.
Sorry, autocorrect. By “natural disaster” I meant “date.”
Pippa
Stop staring at us, stalker.
Ryan
But I can’t turn away. This is a trainwreck.
“Just checking on my portfolio,” Jesse says, his eyes glued to his phone. “We got some movement in the Asian markets. Nothing I can’t handle. My coin wallet is legit. I didn’t want to put that in my profile, because it attracts the wrong kind of women.”
“Oh, I don’t believe women would be attracted to your money,” I say through gritted teeth. I doubt women are attracted to anything about this man.
“Don’t be stupid. Everyone’s attracted to money.” Jesse grabs the champagne bottle out of the ice and refills his glass. He apparently hasn’t noticed that I haven’t even touched mine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ryan gesticulating wildly. He’s pointing at my phone, mouthing for me to check it. Jesse doesn’t notice, because, of course, he’s back to checking Bitcoin prices.
Ryan
Need some help getting away from Dickface?
Pippa
I’m handling it.
Ryan
And I’m going to hurl if he says legit one more time.
Jesse finishes his second glass of champagne and pulls out the bottle to refill it again. Without even looking at me he says, “This champers is legit. You want a refill?”
My eyes go straight to Ryan, who makes a gagging motion at the bar. I can’t help it—a laugh bubbles up in my throat. I have to slap my hand over my mouth to stop it from coming out. I make an unladylike grunting noise that quickly evolves into a low chortle.
Jesse’s eyes narrow. “Bro, are you laughing at me?”
I try to think of something very serious so I won’t giggle. Famine. Earthquakes. Global warming.
Ryan rolls his eyes back in his head and slumps in his barstool like he’s dead. Now, I can’t hold back the laugh. It bursts out of me like lava from a volcano.
“You’re making fun of me.” Jesse scowls at me. “What’s your problem, huh?”
“The problem is all yours, my friend.” Ryan slaps his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Apparently, he’s decided to come over to save me, whether I asked for it or not. “Maybe if you spent a little less time riding crypto waves and a little more time listening to women, you wouldn’t be so shitty at it.”
“Is this your fucking boyfriend?” Jesse demands, slamming his hand on the table.
I shake my head. “No, he’s my stepbrother.”
“Welcome to the family, bro,” Ryan says, grinning. “Can I call you bro, or do you prefer Broseph?”
Jesse throws his cloth napkin on the floor and pushes out of his seat. “You know what? Fuck this. You just lost out on your meal ticket, lady. Champers is on you.”
He stomps away, and I can hear him muttering under his breath, “Legit unbelievable.”
Ryan's eyes meet mine, and we both start laughing so hard, my stomach hurts.
“You shouldn’t have interrupted,” I say as soon as I can catch my breath.
“Couldn’t help myself. That’s the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks. Hey!” Ryan calls back to the bartender. “Put their shit on my tab.”
I reach for my purse. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”
Ryan ignores me and slides into Jesse’s seat. “That was crazy. Is Bro-Magnon over there really the best you can do?”
My chest gets tight, and heat rises in my cheeks. Because the humiliating answer is yes, I wasn’t able to find anyone better than Jesse. My whole journey into the apps was a flop.
“He didn’t seem so bad online,” I grumble.
Ryan presses his thumb against the tiny dimple in his chin, the way he does when he’s really amused.
“You’re kidding. Bro wore loafers with white gym socks to a date.
He screams so bad. It’s oozing out of his pores.
Either you have the world’s worst taste in men, or you didn’t vet this dude at all. ”
“I vetted him enough to make sure he wasn’t a serial killer.”
“Wow. The bar is on the floor, Pips. It’s sinking down into the basement.”
I throw up my hands. “Fine. He wasn’t my first choice. I kind of knew he was going to be a douche, but I’m on a deadline for this article. I had to go out with somebody, and since I didn’t get as many matches as I thought I would, I picked the best of the worst.”
Ryan raises his brows. “I refuse to believe that Dickface McCrypto was top of the pile. What, was it just him versus a hundred aspiring Soundcloud rappers?”
“More like him versus seven Gollums asking for nudes.” I shudder.
“What do you mean, seven?”
My whole body tenses. Fuck. I didn’t mean to admit out loud how few guys swiped right on me. I basically handed Ryan all the ammunition he could ask for to drag me down.
“Seriously, Pips. Tell me you didn’t get seven matches.”
My face heats, and I stare at the table, refusing to meet his eyes. “Eight. I got eight, counting Bitprick.”
“That has to be wrong. You should’ve gotten way more.”
My eyes snap up so hard, I’m lucky they didn’t pop out. “Wait, did you really just say something nice to me? You didn’t even do that when I broke my arm sophomore year.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, men are horny bastards. We’ll strip down for almost any woman who’s willing to give us a second glance. You might not be Miss Universe, but you’re not a troll. You should have gotten dozens of messages.”
I shrug. “Maybe the algorithm isn’t working right?”
“Nu-uh. These apps are designed to get you hooked. If you just signed up for the first time, it should be flooding you with matches to try and get you addicted to the attention. It’s has to be your profile. Show me.”
“Over my dead body.”
He raises a brow. “That would be a bonus.”
“I’m not showing you my profile. Your opinions are about as valuable as a clump of dirt.”
“Au contraire, stepsis. If I’m an expert about one thing, it’s poker, followed very closely by how to hook up with people. Some people would beg for my advice on their profiles.”
“Some people are morons.”
“Come on, you know I’m right. You have to find eleven more guys to date for this article, yeah? Well, they’re all going to suck as much as Ballface the Brogrammer if you don’t get someone in to do damage control.”
I let out a long breath. Loathe as I am to admit it, he’s right. My profile isn’t working, and I have eleven miserable nights ahead if I can’t turn this around.
“Ugh, fine!” I pull out my phone and open up Keepr. “You can look. But if you’re an asshole about it, I’m telling Mom.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He grabs the phone from my hand. He looks at it for all of five seconds before letting out a long sigh. “Oh, Pips. This is…this is cute.”
Oh, no. It’s never good when a guy calls you cute. Your dog, sure. Your outfit, fine. But you as a person? They might as well say you’re as sexually appealing as a sea cucumber. My shoulders slump forward, and I’m struck with the sudden urge to curl up in a ball and hide.
Ryan sighs. “You know what, I’m going to help you.”
With my phone still in his hand, he hops out of his chair and walks toward the exit.
I grab my purse off the back of the chair and chase him out of the restaurant and toward the elevator. “Enough, Ryan. Give me back my phone!”
“Sure. As soon as I’m done fixing your profile.” He holds my phone high above his head. I make a running jump to grab it, but his arms are just too long. There’s no way I can reach it.
“I don’t want your help,” I hiss, punching him as hard as I can in the arm. He doesn’t even flinch. If possible, his smirk seems to grow even wider.
“I know, I know. I’m incredible. A total champion. You can thank me later.” He slings the arm not above his head around my shoulders. “Come on, Pips. I’m going to teach you a few lessons on how to attract the opposite sex.”