Chapter 6 Now #3
“I’ve never used a dating app before, so I don’t know how good I’ll be at this,” Margo says with a laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
When I said that Margo is beautiful, I meant it.
She’s never been the kind of girl to need to seek love out because she’s magnetic—the kind of woman people can’t help but notice, even when she’s sitting down.
Bouncers and bartenders flirt with her; she’s always getting free drinks or shots or tables.
It’s true—pretty privilege is a real thing.
If she and Lucas broke up, there’s no doubt in my mind that she could have a new boyfriend in the snap of her fingers.
“You just need to help Ainsley choose good pictures, and then we can all brainstorm on the prompts. I’ll look some up,” Lucas offers.
Mission accomplished: earlier situation successfully defused. Thank god. There are only a few things worse than being the third wheel to a fighting couple.
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
Margo laughs loudly, her phone still within arm’s reach as the server returns to take Lucas’s and my orders.
For a moment, it feels like things are back to normal, but when I catch Lucas glancing at her phone again, his expression changes.
It’s subtle, but it’s enough to make me take a long sip of my wine, avoiding the tension that’s still hovering over the table.
I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the photos app, then glance up at Lucas. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“One date. Just go on one date, and see how you feel. Then you can reassess,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Probably better to do it now while you’re on tour anyway instead of swiping through people we know from home.”
I nod, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t go away. For now, I start looking at photos of myself and try not to think about how weird it feels to be creating a dating profile when a month ago, I was planning my future with someone else.
But if this is what I need to do to write another romance, as Lucas did say, I guess I’ll just do it for the plot.
* * *
In true heartbroken fashion, I dramatically flop onto the plush hotel bedding later that evening, my phone landing near the pillows. The screen catches my eye as it lights up with a notification from Hinge.
Jackson likes you!
I groan, reaching for it, because even though I wish I wasn’t, I’m curious to see who Jackson is.
As I unlock my phone, the profile Margo created glares back at me like a flashing neon sign blinking desperate and single.
I roll onto my side and tap the heart in the bottom center of the screen.
Jackson’s first picture is of him at a wedding, full tux, holding what looks like an old-fashioned.
He looks cute enough, so I keep scrolling.
He’s twenty-eight years old, works as a brand manager for Boston Beer Company, and graduated from Providence College.
Just when I think he might be a good contender, I catch the tiny magnifying glass with the words short-term relationship next to it. Classic.
Are dating apps really the new meet-cute? Has bumping into each other at coffee shops and picking up a fated dropped wallet truly been replaced by prompts like I’m looking for…a girl who doesn’t take herself so seriously? God, really?
I press my palms into my eyes, trying to drown out my own thoughts.
Unfortunately, my brain doesn’t get the memo, and I start playing a highlight reel of how dating used to be.
Lucas striding up to Margo in the dining hall, my parents reaching for the same cereal box, high school sweethearts Elizabeth and Ben being seated side by side in geometry, Grace being Tucker’s blind date to a fifth-and-cuff, even Cole and me—everyone met the good old-fashioned way. What happened to meeting in the wild?
I sit up and grab a pillow, hugging it to my chest as the feelings of hopelessness turn into a realization.
What if I’m looking for the plot of book three in the wrong place?
I mean even if I do use Hinge for inspiration, won’t every interaction look the same?
Match, exchange a few flirty messages, set a date, and meet for drinks.
Nothing about that screams bestselling romance novel to me.
I toss the pillow aside and sit up straighter, something shifting in my chest. Maybe I don’t need an app.
Maybe I just need to pay attention. Create the right scenario for a meet-cute to occur.
Ross was right—both of my books started with a meet-cute. A Ferris wheel. A cereal aisle. Not big dramatic gestures, just specific tiny moments where two people’s lives collided in a way that felt like fate. But if dating apps aren’t the new meet-cute, then what is?
I glance back at my laptop, the Word doc I’ve shamefully labeled UGH somewhere on there. No, I need something new to distract me.
Tomorrow, instead of spending hours pretending to outline and write a book that I’m not sure exists, I’ll start a list of coffee shops to visit back home and maybe even look up a run club.
If this book and my dating life are going to get back on track, I need to remember what it’s like to be the main character in my own life.
For so long, my identity was tangled up with someone else’s, and now it’s time to take back the story.
Who knows? Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll come out of this with a finished manuscript and the love of my life.
Fat chance.
But at least with a book deal, I’ll be able to pay my rent. And what’s a better love story than that?