“Dave is totally enamored with you, but I agree about it being an issue since you’re co-workers. I’m pretty sure we have a no-dating policy.” She purses her lips. “I should ask HR about that.”
“Please don’t. Besides, Dave looks like the type to have sex with his socks on,” I add with a smile.
Laura’s grin is devious. She loves corrupting me. “He does! But why’d you put that picture in my head? Now I won’t be able to look at him without laughing!”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
“Right, let’s get back on track. Dating apps.”
“No apps.”
There’s no way I could navigate the uncharted waters of the dating app world. I’m looking to wade into the dating pool, not jump into the middle of the ocean without a life jacket.
“Yes, apps. Apps are huge timesavers. Unless you want to spend all your free time out prowling for dates, you need to use dating apps.”
Laura makes a credible argument, but I’m still torn. It seems so impersonal. My eyes glaze over as she describes how she vets guys before dates. Google reverse image searches, background checks, social media stalking, appraisal district property searches. She says all this with a wide smile, as if cyberstalking someone before meeting them is commonplace.
Maybe that is normal nowadays.
But this is all so foreign to me. The last person I dated was Kyle, and we met at a college football game. I’m not sure I’m cut out forthe dating-app lifestyle. “You know, on second thought, maybe I’m not—”
“Uh huh, nope.” Laura’s expression is stony, and her voice firm. “You’re ready and we’re doing this, but I’ll do the heavy lifting. I’ll create your profile and sift through all the guys who respond before sending over any who might be a good fit for you. Think of me as your dating app spam filter.”
“Okay,” I sigh. Relinquishing control seems easier than being an active participant in this crazy endeavor.
“But remember one thing: right now, you’re not looking for your next husband or even your next boyfriend. You’re looking for someone fun to hang out with. That’s all. Nothing serious, so no pressure.”
I nod, relieved. “Okay, yes. That’s what I need. Something fun and light.”
“Exactly.” Lifting her coffee cup, she says, “Cheers to some orgasm therapy!”
I snort my latte, spraying it all over Laura’s white cashmere sweater, sputtering, “What? What the hell is orgasm therapy?”
Dabbing at her sweater with a paper napkin, she throws me a dirty look. “Orgasms are good for you. They’re proven to lower cortisol levels and reduce stress. I’m surprised you didn’t know that, Little Miss Lover of Useless Factoids.”
Truth is, I did know that, but I just didn’t think Laura knew it, too.
Groaning, I melt into the sofa as my face flushes. “I’m so going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“I promise, as your best friend, you won’t regret it.” She raises her hand and gives me a three-finger salute like a Girl Scout.
But she doesn’t fool me. She was never a Girl Scout.
“You know what? You do everything. Set up my profile, cyberstalk my poor unsuspecting date, and then arrange the meeting. I’ll show up and pretend it’s a good old-fashioned blind date. Sound good?”
“Sounds weird, but I accept your parameters.” Turning serious, Laura squirms in her seat. “I’m happy for you.”
“And?” Because I can tell she has more to say.
“And I’m glad you aren’t letting Kyle keep you from moving forward.”
But I’m not sure she has that right. I think it’s less about Kyle dragging me down than it is about Hayes propelling me forward.
Even now, more than a year later, I think about that night. Fantasize about it more than is probably healthy. Just the thought of Hayes sends heat pooling low in my belly, my blood rushing through my veins like I’m on fire.
I want to find that kind of connection again.
10
