Nora
Pick the one you like best. Except the last one. Trust me, no woman wants that.
Naturally, I scroll straight to the last option.
Woolly Mammoth: Let it grow wild and free.
Since Nora says that one is not an option, I scroll until I find the image with the highest percentage rating. Then I head into the bathroom, grab my razor, and yank down my pants because apparently this is where my life is now.
Twenty
Keep It G-Rated
Nora
I wake up already annoyed with myself, because the kiss from two days ago is there even before my eyes are fully open. It settles deep inside me, uninvited, like it camped out overnight and decided to rearrange the furniture. I stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of it.
I’ve kissed enough guys I could write a dissertation on kissing styles in the twenty-first century. The ones who dive in tongue-first as if they’re licking an ice cream cone. The ones determined to count my teeth. The ones who go completely still, like kissing is a solo sport, and I’ve wandered onto their stage by accident. None of them scattered my thoughts the way Miles did. None of them made me forget where I was—or what I was supposed to be guarding. With Miles, my brain didn’t just wander. It rolled down the windows, hit the gas, and told me to enjoy the ride. He paid attention. Followed my lead and then, somehow, took over. And the thing that keeps replaying against my will? His hand on my neck. Slightly possessive, but not rough, exactly how I showed him.
Oh god.
I squeeze my eyes shut and roll onto my side, my thighs brushing together on instinct. Once he understood the assignment, he let his feelings take the lead instead of his thoughts. Miles didn’t rush. He treated every cue like it mattered—like I mattered. Which is ridiculous. Because it’s Miles. Sweet, nerdy, black-rimmed-glasses Miles. He’s the guy who overthinks, who asks before crossing lines, and who looks at me as if given the opportunity, he’d give me the world. I cannot be falling for Miles. I am not falling for Miles. It was only a charged moment on the beach. I’m only caught up because it was unexpected. Different. And—fine—because it was really, really good. That’s all.
I sit up, run a hand through my hair, and blow out a breath.
Get it together, Nora.
It was only a kiss, even if my body, and annoyingly my brain, seem determined to disagree.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. My heart rate spikes.
Please don’t be him.
I still haven’t fully processed everything yet. I flip the phone over.
Mom
Good luck with the podcast today.
I blink. Once. Twice. “Oh shit,” I whisper. The podcast. I have the podcast today. The time on my phone stares back at me, and it nearly slips from my hand. “In an hour?” My voice cracks.
I fling myself out of bed and trip over yesterday’s clothes as I bolt for the bathroom. Cold water hits my face. My toothbrush goes straight into my mouth while droplets drip down my cheeks.
“You’re a professional,” I tell myself around the foam. “You built an app. You can talk about it for thirty minutes without combusting.” I spit, pivot, and sprint back to my room, yanking clothes from my makeshift closet and tossing them aside while my thoughts flounder. I need something that says “competent founder but not trying too hard.” Confident but approachable. Successful but chill. I grab a top. No—too sparkly. Another one. Practically see-through. I finally yank a simple V-neck from the hanger and pull it on. As I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my thoughts slide right back to Miles and the warmth of his finger brushing my temple when he did the same thing.
I shake my head hard. “Nope. Not now.”
Laptop. Headset. Notebook. A half-empty water bottle. I spread everything across the kitchen table as if I’m gearing up for battle. Podcast first. Miles later. I adjust the screen until the background looks intentionally minimal instead of “I live in a studio apartment,” then triple-check that my mic isn’t muted. I inhale a deep breath and click connect. The screen flickers, then two smiling faces pop into view.
“Hi, Nora!” the woman on the left says. “I’m Claire.”
“And I’m Jess,” the other adds. “Thanks so much for joining us.”
“Hi,” I say, smiling back. “Thanks for having me.”
Once the intro music fades and the recording officially starts, my nerves settle enough that my fingers don’t shake.
“So,” Claire begins, leaning forward, “OneDate has been getting a lot of buzz lately. Let’s start at the beginning. How did the idea come to you?”
