7 #3
“Are you sure? I feel like it shows more personality but I also look a little ugly.”
He just snorts, then goes back to scrolling on his phone.
“What kind of response is that?” I shriek, shoving his shoulder. “You know I’m emotionally fragile right now, Andrew. You can’t just laugh at me for feeling ugly.”
I’m not actually offended, of course. And he can tell, because he shoves my shoulder right back, making me flop sideways onto the couch cushion.
“Yeah, right. Like you need me to tell you how you look.”
“Well, under the circumstances,” I muse, righting myself, “I am literally asking your opinion on how I look.”
“Yeah, but you know you’re beautiful.”
He says it like a throwaway, staring down at his phone, as though he’s told me I’m beautiful a million times before.
And let me tell you—he has not. Not that he’s said I’m unattractive or something.
He just doesn’t comment on my appearance.
And why would he? He’s a guy. But I admit I’m a little thrown right now.
“Are you still trying to make me feel better about the Elliot thing? Because I promise, I’m fine.”
“Are you fishing for compliments? Because I promise I don’t give a fuck about Elliot.”
And I can’t think of anything to say to that, so I just say, “Okay, fine,” and add the picture to my profile. “I think I’m done. Want to help me swipe? It’s actually pretty fun. I do it with Lia all the time.”
“Yeah… I’ve actually used that app before.”
“Oh, right. Weren’t you helping Nolan with his profile too?”
“Trying to, but he’s an obstinate motherfucker.”
That makes me laugh out loud. “Okay then, you’re a veteran who can help me in these trenches. Like what do you think about this guy?”
I scoot over to show him my screen. Andy’s arm is stretched across the back of the couch, and there’s the perfect amount of space for me underneath it.
Our sides are flush as he leans in to take a look.
“Thirty-four, consultant, likes travel and working out… eh.” He gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Okay, you’re right, that is painfully boring, but look at the picture with his cats! And it says their names are Rumpkin and Bumpkin. I’m sorry but I simply must match with him.”
Andy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Soph, you can be more discerning than that.”
“Okay then, Mr. Know-It-All. What do you look for? Let me see yours.” I stick my hand out, waiting.
“Well…” He reluctantly hands over his phone. “I try to glean if they seem smart. I know you can’t tell much from a profile, but the wrong ‘your’ is a dealbreaker.”
“Wow,” I chuckle, “insufferable as always.” I have his passcode memorized so I unlock it and scan until I see the app. “Don’t you worry you swiped away on your soulmate because she made a typo?”
“Oh, 100%. And it would be a just punishment for my elitism.”
“What about what they’re looking for? Like if someone wants marriage and kids, is that a turn off for you?” I can’t help but notice the list of unread messages in his inbox, several of which are… quite forward. I should’ve seen that coming. Catnip Andy.
“I mean, I do want those things eventually. But usually I’m just using the app for… something casual.”
Realization dawns, and I feel my mouth fall open. “Oh my god! You just use it for sex!”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” A flush rises up his neck.
“Yes,” I laugh, “but it’s way crazier when you do it.”
“Why?”
“You’re so… you!”
“I have a feeling that’s not a compliment.” He runs his fingers through his hair again and looks away from me.
“No, no, Andy, please.” I grab his hands and make him look at me, so he knows I’m serious when I say, “It’s the biggest compliment. I just meant you don’t love meeting new people, and you always need to plan everything out so completely. I’m surprised one night stands are your thing, is all.”
The next second seems to swell into ten, as I realize I’m talking about sex with Andy while holding both of his hands.
I’m acutely aware of the press of my fingers into his palms, the temperature of his warm skin against mine.
I pull my hands back, then wish I hadn’t because surely the abrupt movement made things weirder.
Andy shifts away slightly—okay yes, I definitely made that weird—and mumbles, “Well, we don’t really talk about sex, so…”
“No.” I swallow. “We don’t.” I spot the remote on the coffee table, and am about to reach for it to break the awkwardness when he speaks up again.
“Do—” He clears his throat. “I mean, are they your thing?”
“One night stands?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve had a couple, but that’s part of why I thought the dating app thing would be good for me. I haven’t had much experience being single in general. I usually…”
I trail off, stopping myself before I can say I usually jump into a relationship with the first person who shows interest so I don’t sound pathetic.
But he doesn’t make me finish the sentence. He meets my gaze and says, “Yeah. I know.”
There’s a subtle pressure change in the air between us—a warning pulse. His dark brown eyes flicker across my face, taking in every accidental tell in the twist of my lips and flush of my cheeks. He always seems to see too much of me. More than anyone else. More than I’m ready to show.
“So, um…” He hesitates, then asks, “How many dates?”
“Huh?”
“How many dates do you have to go on with someone before…”
I realize what he’s asking, feeling my mouth fall open but hearing no sound come out.
“Sorry. That was weird. Pretend I didn’t ask.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m just worried you’ll judge me.”
“When have I ever judged you?”
He asks it so sincerely, and the worried furrow of his brow reminds me that he never would.
“At least three,” I admit. “Sometimes more. Does that make me a prude? I’ll kiss on the first date, but doing much more than that right away has just always felt too vulnerable.”
“That doesn’t make you a prude.”
I give him a sideways glance. “Are you just saying that because I’m the first person to use the word prude since the 1950’s?”
He laughs, and it takes some air out of the ballooning tension. “No, though that’s a bonus.”
I open my mouth again, then stop myself.
“What?”
“What what?”
“Just say what you were going to say, Sophia.”
I tuck my knees up in front of my chest. “Are you sure about that? Because I was going to ask you how many people you’ve had sex with, but then I realized I kind of don’t want to know the answer.”
“You don’t?” he asks earnestly, and the question makes my temperature spike about a million degrees.
“Not… I mean… not because I’m like… jealous or something. Oh, Jesus.” I drop my face into my palms, hiding from myself. “I totally made this weird. I swear I didn’t mean it like Tell me how many girls you’ve slept with because you’re mine and they need to die, I just meant—”
“I didn’t think you did,” Andy tries, but I can’t stop talking.
“—like as a friend I was curious, because I’ve heard every single hookup story that Lia has ever had and I feel like that’s a best friend thing, to talk about that stuff, but then I realized that it’s not really our dynamic and I shouldn’t be asking for that amount of detail.”
“It’s not our dynamic?”
“Clearly! Look at me!” I point to my face that’s 700 degrees Fahrenheit and fluorescent pink.
“That seems like a you problem, not an us problem.”
Andy leans forward, casually picking up another piece of pizza from the coffee table, and his nonchalance is making me insane.
I need to steer this conversation back to safer waters or I will physically die.
So I do the first thing I can think of: without warning, I lunge forward and take a huge, messy bite of the pizza in his hand.
“Hey!” He shoves me back onto my half of the couch, laughing as he attempts to protect his slice. “Get your own, weirdo.”
I fall back against the couch cushion, giggling around the cold glob of cheese now hanging from my mouth.
Tension dissipated. Mission accomplished.
When we eventually press play on the movie again, I split my attention between the big screen on the wall and the small screen in my hand.
Patrick (34, consultant, likes travel and working out) starts the conversation by commenting on a picture of me in a bookstore carrying a stack of three huge novels to the register.
Patrick: i love this series
Me: Oh awesome! I’m reading it now. I’m almost done with book two and am really mad at Merenia for the whole secret message thing. No spoilers please!
Patrick: let me know when you get to the end, the cliffhanger is torture
Me: Ahhhh ok will do!
Me: Also I have to ask, do you actually call your cats Bumpkin and Rumpkin or do they go by nicknames?
Patrick: usually they get called b and ru, unless my niece is over, she named them, i think it confuses them when their real names come out
Me: They are so cute! I’d love to meet them someday
Patrick: wanna come over now, i’ll send my address
And look, I’d be the first to admit I’m mostly looking for a hook up right now, but even by those loose standards, it’s an abrupt proposition.
Me: Maybe we should meet for drinks to get to know each other first. Are you free next weekend?
Patrick: how’s next friday