15. Finn #2
“Dogs are great,” Adele protested, sitting up in her chair.
“I agree with you,” I said, looking up from the device. “But is that really worth putting on a profile? It’s like saying you like sunlight or pizza. Duh. Boring.”
I kept scrolling. It was like slowing down to pass by a car wreck. It was gross and voyeuristic, but I couldn’t contain my compulsion to know exactly who Adele was talking to. If I had any sense, I’d delete the apps off her phone, but instead, I dug deeper.
“And this joker?” I held the phone up so she could see the photo. “Who does he think he’s fooling with that comb-over?”
She tried to snatch it from my hand, but I lifted it above my head and out of her reach. It was one of the many advantages of my height. “Don’t be a dick. Not everyone has great hair like you do.”
“True, but if a dude’s bald, he should be proud of it.
Rock that shit. This”—I wiggled the phone in the air—“screams insecure. And he says he’s searching for his soulmate?
” I stuck out my tongue and pretended to gag.
“Probably a coercive narcissist. I bet he love-bombs women and then discards them when he gets bored.”
I had met too many guys like this. Who manipulated women’s emotions to get what they wanted. They craved adoration, and they’d cross any boundary to get it.
Was I perhaps reading too far into Adele’s potential dates?
Abso-fucking-lutely. But I was running with it full steam ahead, and there was no way I was putting on the brakes.
I’d disqualify every single jerk who had ever even considered signing up for LuvStruck.
There was no way she was going out with any of these guys. Or any guy, for that matter.
“How do you even know this stuff?” she asked, wearing a thoughtful expression that held just a hint of confusion.
I gave her a wink. “You’re not the only one who’s been to therapy, She-Ra.
And no, you’re not getting the phone back.
” I kept scrolling, hitting the thumbs-down icon for every single match.
I wanted them all gone. If she opened the app and found she had no matches, maybe she’d notice the guy sitting in front of her damn face.
“No way for this guy,” I said, looking at an average-looking guy wearing medical scrubs.
“Why?”
“He’s a veterinarian.”
“What’s wrong with vets?”
I dipped my chin and gave her a look. “He murders animals for a living. Sweet. No. Probably a sociopath.”
“You are not well.”
“Not denying it.”
I scanned the profiles of every bland, boring dude in a hundred-mile radius, feeling both overwhelmingly jealous and a bit cocky.
Because this was the competition. Sure, there was the whole my dad is a murderer thing.
And my stagnant career, I supposed. But I could compete.
I’d just have to convince her to consider me.
“Wait.” I held up a finger. “What’s this icon? Have you been messaging with any of these guys?” I clicked on the mailbox icon, and sure enough, some dumbass was shooting his shot with Adele.
I clicked on the profile option. “Dane,” I said, almost gagging on the name. What the fuck kind of name was that? “Looks like he owns an insurance company and enjoys skiing in his spare time.”
Her eyes turned murderous, and she locked her jaw tight. Oh shit. Now I’d hit a nerve. “He seems nice,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest in a clear attempt to convince herself that this guy was even close to good enough.
“So that’s what you’re into? The corporate type.” Saying it made my stomach clench. Why was I doing this to myself? It was time for me to give this woman her phone back and exit the room. This was not going to help my unhealthy obsession with her.
She shrugged, schooling her expression into something that only remotely resembled nonchalance. “Look around. It’s northern Maine. There aren’t many choices up here. And he’s been really nice so far.”
I scrolled through the messages. They had been chatting for a couple of days. Dammit. My vision was starting to turn red. Had she been messaging him the day we threw axes and she was eyeballing my dick? Because if so, the joke was on him.
“Insurance is boring.” I huffed a laugh. “How could someone like you even tolerate this guy?”
She continued to shoot daggers at me, but I kept going.
This was crossing the line. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.
“Ah. He wants to meet you for coffee? What a shithead. You know that’s code, right?
He wants to make sure you look like your picture.
Coffee is such a cop-out. Commit to the date, man. ”
“There is nothing wrong with meeting for coffee.” Adele’s words were placid, but her tone was anything but.
“Twenty minutes is not a date. You wanna go out, then go out and get to know each other. You deserve a hell of a lot more than coffee.”
“Enough!” She stood and plucked the phone out of my hands so quickly I didn’t have a chance to pull it away again.
“Go away. I know you enjoy torturing me, but this is cruel. There is nothing wrong with online dating. I deserve to find my person, so kindly fuck off.” Her voice shook slightly, which was an enormous departure from her normal confidence.
Shit. I had let my jealousy and alpha caveman instincts take over, and I had hurt her feelings in the process.
“You misunderstand me,” I soothed, lowering my voice and lightening my tone. “I’m mocking these shitty dudes. Not you. Never you. You deserve so much better.”
“You are the last person who gets to determine what I deserve.” Those words had the temperature in her office dropping ten degrees. Her defenses were back up.
“Fair. But at least let me help you. Here.” I held out a hand and gestured for her to return the phone. “Let me see your profile.”
She gripped the device tighter, like she was worried I’d snatch it from her again. “No.”
“I could help,” I urged with a shrug. “Give a guy’s perspective.”
She scoffed. “Are you an online dating expert?”
“No. I hate this shit. But I’m a guy, and I’m the best help you’ve got right now.”
With a sigh and a slump of her shoulders, she handed it over.
Damn, I didn’t think I’d ever seen her so defeated.
There was no way I would have pegged this gorgeous, competent, intelligent woman as self-conscious.
What had she been through that had her convinced these mediocre dudes were even worth her time?
On what planet were men not lining up for a chance to talk to this goddess?
I took a minute to study her profile and flip through the photos.
“Here’s the problem,” I said. “Look at these profile pics.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They don’t even look like you.”
“Hey.”
“Not in a bad way. But seriously. What is this?” I held up the phone and showed her the photo of her wearing a dark purple dress that hit at the knee. Her hair was straightened, and her face was covered in more makeup than I’d ever seen her wear.
“That was taken at Henri’s wedding last year.
I thought I looked pretty.” Her face was red now, and I sensed I had waded into dangerous territory.
She’d obviously become a pro at hiding her insecurities since I hadn’t noticed a single one until today, but the confident facade she clung to was beginning to crack.
“You do look pretty in this picture. And that’s the problem. You’re not pretty.”
“Hey,” she growled, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. “That’s cruel.”
“No. I’m not explaining this correctly. You’re not pretty; you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. You’re powerful and you’re breathtakingly hot.”
She sucked in a breath, and a blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.
I tossed the phone onto the desk and stepped back. “Like right now. You’re dirty from working all day, but if I took a photo of you, with your coveralls tied around your waist and your bra strap peeking out and the grease streaked across your cheek, your inbox would blow up.”
“You’re delusional,” she retorted, but her tone had no bite.
I splayed my hands on the surface of her desk and angled close so I was in her space.
“The woman sitting in front of me is sexy. She’s the kind of woman a man takes out on a proper date.
The kind of woman he only hopes will give him the time of day.
You are not some generic, polite, pretty-enough girl a guy sizes up over tepid coffee. ”
Her breath caught, and she searched my face. “What kind of girl am I?”
My heart hammered in my chest. I wanted to pick up the desk and throw it out a window. Anything to take away the barrier between us.
I held eye contact, letting the crackle of tension build between us. God, I wanted to grab her face and kiss her. But she was vulnerable, and I had promised to stop.
So I dropped my head.
“You’re not a girl, Adele. You’re a fucking goddess.”
With that, I forced myself to spin on my heel and leave her office. If I stayed for a moment longer, I’d do something I’d regret. And she didn’t deserve that.
As I stepped over the threshold, I turned back. She had dropped back into her chair, and she was watching me with wide eyes and her mouth agape.
“Thursday,” I said. “Meet me at the runway. I’ll be the tall, handsome pilot ready to show you the time of your life.”