Luca
“Love is a strong word,” I tell him.
“Not for the man who just pitched the Real Talk idea to the creative team and got all thumbs up,” he says, inviting himself to take a seat across from me at my desk as he pops open his laptop to a spreadsheet.
“You pitched it without me?” I ask.
“You were busy,” he says. “On your date. Meanwhile, I took the liberty of handing your recent idea to the worker bees who are creating a trial run now. You’re welcome.”
I don’t say thank you.
For one, these are the kinds of things I should be a part of. Though as I scroll through the spreadsheet, I have to admit; it looks good. Really good, actually. Good enough to give us that leap I was talking about.
“Speaking of that,” he goes on, “how did it go?”
“How did what go?” I ask absently as I continue to evaluate.
“How did what go? The date! With the blonde who likes sushi,” he says.
“Right. It was fine,” I say, refusing to look at him. Matt spits out a mocking laugh, nearly spraying me with his saliva.
“Bullshit. It wasn’t just fine. I can tell,” he scoffs.
“You can tell,” I mock back.
“I can tell,” he parrots. “You have a look about you.”
I close the laptop and pass it back to him. “Oh really? And what kind of look is that?” I ask.
“Well, let’s see,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on my desk, crossed at the ankles as he grins at me. “When you go on a date, that’s just…fine…you come in looking energized.”
“Energized…” I nod.
“Yeah. Like you needed to get laid, and you got laid, and now you have a little more gas in your tank. But right now you have a different vibe going on.”
“Like?” I ask, annoyed with this conversation.
“Like you got laid, and it really took it out of you. Like there’s something residual there. Like it was a little more than that…” he presses, and I deadpan him.
“I don’t know what the fuck was in your coffee, but you’re out of your damn mind,” I snap.
But Matt knows me. And because he knows me, he just grins and waits before saying, “So…how was your date?”
“It was…” I pause. “Different,” I say.
“Different,” he echoes. And this is how a lot of our conversations go when Matt is trying to drag something out of me.
Usually, I make it difficult enough that he gives up, at least for a while.
Or I just tell him to fuck off. But today, I don’t have the willpower.
I left all my willpower on my couch last night.
“Alright,” I say with an irritated exhale. “It was good.”
“How good? She threw herself at you good? Hard to get good?”
“It was good,” I say again. “She’s got substance. Most women’s heads are full of air. And she was cute, like in her photos. It was refreshing,” I say.
“Cute. Oh boy…” he shakes his head; the smirk plastered in place. Of course he chose that one word to sink his claws into.
“Yes, she was cute. What’s wrong with cute?” I ask.
“Hot means you wanna get in her panties. Same with sexy. Pretty means she’s intriguing enough to drop some cocktail money if you can’t find someone hot. But cute…cute means she got under your skin. And Luca Laurent is notorious for thick skin.”
“I told you,” I say. “She was…” I search for the word.
“Not like other girls,” he says and I let out another breath.
“She was smart,” I say again. “Capable of conversation.”
“I do love a good conversational tennis match. Especially with a girl who is cute…” he teases.
“At the end of the night, I asked her to come back to my place. And she was hesitant,” I say. Honestly, that’s new for me. I don’t typically have to try. But the challenge was also refreshing.
“Hard to get is always fun.”
“But in the end, I convinced her. And I was willing to take it slow, but…” I trail off.
“But?” Matt asks.
“She was anything but slow,” I say, and he laughs, sitting up straight.
“Well shit. Smart, cute, and feisty. A winning combination for the perfect one-night-bang,” he says, clinking his coffee thermos to mine. “Cheers to you.”
But I don’t thank him. Instead, I pull a bottle of whiskey out of my desk drawer and add a shot to my coffee.
“Oh…” Matt says, pushing his coffee over to me. “There’s more. So…bad in bed?”
“What?” I snap as I take a sip. “Of course not. She was unreal in bed.”
“Clingy at the end of it all?” he takes a sip of his loaded coffee too, and sucks his teeth.
“Not at all. In fact, she was perfectly happy to leave, no strings attached,” I say.
“So what the hell’s the problem then?” Matt asks. “She was fun, sexy, put out, got out. I mean, it sounds like the perfect one-nighter. Unless…you don’t want it to be a one-nighter.”
I don’t say anything.
“Shit…” Matt takes another sip of his coffee and sets it down. “Alright. Pull her profile up again.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because if my man is considering a second date, something you almost never do, I need to vet her a little harder,” he says. I give him a look; he just holds his hand out in a come-on motion. I finally give in (Golden Retrievers are relentless) and pull up her profile.
“Livv,” he says as he scrolls through the three photos again. “Short for Olivia?”
“Probably,” I shrug.
“You didn’t ask?”
“No,” I state. “Why would I?”
“You’re right. Why would you ask her name? Second date stuff,” he smirks, and I want to hit him. “God. I swear I have seen her before.”
“Where?” I ask with annoyance. “I doubt she goes to Top Golf or Knockouts Bar and Grill,”
“No,” he says. And then he starts fucking around on my phone.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“A quick image search,” he says, leaning back in his chair so I can’t swipe my phone from him. I’m getting more irritated by the second. But it literally only takes a second before his grin returns, and he holds up the phone. “Bingo.”
“Who is she?” I ask, grabbing my phone.
“Olivia Ramone,” he says. “Owner and head host for–”
“The Unmatched Podcast,” I say as I scroll.
“Holy shit, right?” he chuckles.
And holy shit is right.
“She didn’t tell you?” he asks.
“No. I mean, she mentioned working in tech or communications or something, but not–”
“Not that she’s the creator of a podcast whose sole goal in life is to destroy the online dating industry?” he asks.
I literally don’t have words. Because, what the hell? And why? And for what reason?
“You think she knows who I am?” I ask. “Fuck yeah, she knows who you are,” he answers almost immediately. “You’re enemy number one!”
Something in my chest grows tight. And at the same time, my stomach sours. “You think she had a motive?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Hard to say. But easy to find out.”
With that he starts typing on his phone. I know what he’s doing. He’s social media stalking her. And I let him. Half because I’m not too excited about what he’s going to find and half because I’m angry.
Suddenly he stops. “Holy shit…” he says again.
“What?!” I ask.
“No way…”
“What?”
“Check this out,” he says, showing me his phone. It’s a photo of Livv–Olivia–with…
“That’s Sadie,” I say.
“The girl you just fired,” he says.
“But how do they know each other?” I ask.
“Read the caption,” Matt nods up at me.
“They’re friends.”
“Hashtag best friends for life…” he says.
I set his phone down as my brain wraps itself around our recent discoveries.
“No way there’s not a motive,” he says.
“Yeah…” I let out.
“So much for a second date,” he grimaces before standing up to leave. “Sorry, boss.”
“Unless…” I say, and he stops, looking back over his shoulder.
“Unless?”
I pause for a moment. I never do things like this. I never play games. But…
“I am the CEO of Realr,” I say.
“Damn straight,” he says.
“The most successful dating app in dating app history.”
“Five hundred million strong,” he says.
“No one catfishes me and gets away with it,” I say, and Matt grins.
“Hell no,” he agrees. “So…what are you going to do?”
I think about it for a moment before answering. “I’m going to beat her at her own game.”
“And how do you plan to do that?” he asks, hanging on my words. “Call her out on her shit? Publicly defame her?”
“No,” I say. My eyes flash up to him and my lips tick in the corners. “I’m going to ask her out on a second date.”