“I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, be right back,” Julia says.
I nod and slather my last French fry in ketchup and pop it in my mouth.
Nate waits until Julia leaves the table then he bumps his shoulder into mine. “You know, Jane, there’s always me and you. We could—"
“Nate,” I say looking up at him. “I’m just not…I don’t…”
“I might just wear you down one day.”
The bell over the front door rings, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end; before I even look up, I know it’s Dex. I hope this stops soon, the feeling I get whenever we’re in the same room, because this is too much. I wonder if he feels me in rooms or if he doesn’t think of or see me at all anymore. When I lift my eyes, his face tells me everything.
He looks back and forth between me and Nate, his whole body stiffens and his jaw tics. When his eyes lock back on mine, he nods, then turns around and walks right back out the door like he’s doing me some great favor.
Chapter 12
I’m sitting on my bed squinting at a square, blurry image on my laptop, zooming in and out while sipping a glass of wine. When I logged into Misanthrope, I could see a small clear piece of Match 1’s profile picture in the bottom righthand corner. Now, I’m staring at the screen for a full five minutes trying to figure out what I can see hidden behind the hazed-out part of the picture. His hair is definitely dark.
My favorite type.
A sudden bling and burst of flames cross my screen alerts me to a new message.
Match 1:The right bottom corner of your profile is clear. You seem to be made of books.
Me: Weirdly, I too am staring at the same piece on your profile picture. But I can’t tell anything from it. And believe me, I’m trying. I think you may have really dark hair.
Match 1: You’re absolutely right. I have really dark hair.
Match 1: What about you?
I stareat the screen for another few minutes before pushing my fingers to type out an answer. There’s a strange tingling at the base of my skull and a flip of nerves in my belly. It’s the silliest thing—he’s not asking for much—but I still have to gulp back my entire glass of wine to answer. This line of conversation could lead anywhere.
Me:Long and dark. Uncontrollable curls and waves. I usually keep it up in a messy bun, with a pen sticking out of the top.
Match 1: Lol. That’s a detailed image.
Me: Lol, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just typed all that.
Match 1: No, don’t be sorry. I liked the image it created in my head.
My cheeks flame.Thank God I’m home alone where there’s no one to witness my reaction to the simple message. But it kind of makes me feel desperate and pathetic, that I’m so lonely something as simple as a total stranger saying he liked the image I created in his head makes me blush. But it also makes me want more. I pour myself another glass of wine and sip at it quickly. My knees are starting to tingle, along with the tips of my fingers.
Match 1:Is that how your hair is now?
Me: Right now, it’s in a long braid because I’m in bed.
Match 1: You’re in bed, huh? Now I’m really enjoying the detailed imagery in my head.
Me: Oh my God. You just made me blush.
Match 1: I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to one day being able to see that.
Me: Me blush?
Match 1: Me making you blush.
My heart beats faster.I haven’t talked to anyone over text messages like this since Dex and I were dating long-distance. I hesitate before typing out a reply. I think I need to slightly change the subject, or this conversation is going to get too weird for me.
I drink more wine and try to type something a little more humorous.
