“Hey, beautiful, I’m writing a book, and I’ve got a problem…”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I hesitate.
Then Blake’s back.
“Tell you more? Let’s see, I’m like a book. Once you read the first line, you won’t be able to put me down.”
Shit.
Hot.
In a sweet-geeky way.
“So, you like to read?” I type fast.
He replies: “Read? Someone I used to know loved to read. It was in her blood. I like to read people, their minds, their souls, every line of their bodies.”
I blink.
This…this isn’t real.
“This can’t be real. This is a fake world for the lonely.”
Three dots float. Then vanish.
My heart sinks.
How do you fall for someone you’ve loved your whole damn life, and still want to scream at them for breaking you?
Dots return.
“Trying to figure out what you’re feeling? Is it friendship or more? You seem cynical. I was, too. Fake love traps, catfish profiles…I get it.”
He’s invested. This isn’t a game for him anymore.
“Well, tell me this: are you fake? That picture of yours, is it a Google image?”
I already know it’s not. I took that photo. I was so in love with him then.
His reply is instant.
“That’s really me. Why? Yours isn’t?”
I cringe.
“Don’t hate me, but…yeah. No. It’s not. I Googled ‘every man’s wet dream’ and ran with the Angelina Jolie knockoff.”
“False advertising, huh?” he teases. “That’s dangerous, little lady.”
I laugh; lip trapped between my teeth.
“It’s a dating app. We all bend the truth a little, don’t we?”
But I’m bending everything. Reality. Morals. The truth? I’m his goddamn ex-wife.
“A good poker player never shows his hand.” he types.
“Is this poker?”
