Fifteen.
Tap. Tap. Tap. My nails on the marble click, clack, click, clack.
Nothing…
Deep breath. I open the app.
Dating, they call it. I call it research. But really? I’m just spiralling in disguise.
“Hi, obsession. How’s your day treating you?”
Sent.
Five, four, three, two, one…
My eyes flick to the horizon like I’m waiting for a damn storm. Why am I nervous?
Tiny sweat beads form at my brow, slide down my spine. I breathe in.
Count to twenty. Out. Ten. Again.
Ease your mind, chill the soul, Penn.
ThenBleep.
He’s typing. My husband. On the same phone I texted him from except now, he’s replying to Pandora. Not me.
“Hi there, Miss Pandora. It’s treating me better now that I’ve heard from you.”
I smile.
Butterflies. Goddamn traitorous butterflies. How?
“Well, aren’t you just the charmer?”
“Charmer, huh? I can be anything you want me to be.??”
The wink hits different. He’s not the Blake I knew.
He’s sexier.
Funnier.
Confident.
What the hell happened?
“Oooo, tell me more…”
I roll my chair toward the late-afternoon sun, slicing through the blinds.
Catfishing my husband.
I’m writing an article.
Sure.
Another ping, new message. Some guy named Rob_09.
