Rhiannon capped the water bottle. If he was gauging her level of fury correctly, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t toss the contents of it on him if he were on fire, but her mild expression didn’t give that away. “Yeah, sure.”
“I’ll be fine.” He didn’t take offense to Helena’s doubt. People were inclined to believe football players were stupid, and he hadn’t been in the public eye for a long time. For all she knew, he wouldn’t be able to handle himself.
Public appearances had never bothered him, though. One of his first memories was sitting on his father’s shoulders after a Super Bowl win, the deafening roar of the crowd piercing through the giant headphones his parents had slappedover his ears. Being a famous man’s son had taught him how to play to the public; being a pro athlete had taught him that his face and body were a tool. He hadn’t minded doing endorsements. Until he’d retired, and they’d vanished.
“Here we go.” Helena straightened up.
The curtain split open, and Samson was abruptly glad he had been able to step in for Annabelle. This big of a crowd, plus a recording? He didn’t know if his aunt could have done this, if introducing him at the party had freaked her out. Even he felt a few nerves flutter alive.
Helena waved as the applause died down. “Gosh, thank you, Jason, for introducing me, and thank you all for coming! I’m so excited to be here at CREATE, and especially at this interview. I have so much respect for both of my guests today.” She cocked her head. “Now, this panel is called Slow Dating vs. Swiping, and I think that’s a bit of a mistitle, because I think real ‘slow dating’ would be, like, meeting someone at a café or a party and then seeing them once a week for four months and then deciding you want to be exclusive, and who the heck does that anymore, huh?” She placed her hand by her mouth and leaned forward, like she was imparting a secret. “If there’s anyone here who’s got a relationship that started like that in the last couple years, you’re a freaking unicorn, FYI.”
The smatter of laughter eased him. Helena was a good moderator, and this seemed like it would be a fairly softball interview. All he had to do was not focus on Rhiannon.
He might have been hit, he might be disoriented, but he could still play.
“But for our purposes, we’ll use ‘slow dating’ to refer to a nonswipey dating app. And to that end, over here we have Matchmaker. Matchmaker was one of the first entries to online dating, almost a quarter century ago. While a number of those first sites have been lost to history, Matchmaker has remained strong, with almost eight million paid subscribers, and committed to its one-hundred-point matching system. Now, I know some of you were expecting to see Annabelle Kostas, cofounder of the site, but unfortunately, she had to bow out at the last minute. We have a very attractive stand-in, though. If you’re a football fan like I am, some of you may know Samson Lima from his days as a Super Bowl–winning linebacker for the Portland Brewers or, before that, his college ball days at Notre Dame. He’s taken a bit of a break from the spotlight, but now he’s back. Hopefully, you all have heard about his gig over at Matchmaker, and how you, too, can score a date with this handsome bachelor. If you’re just finding out right now, I’ll ask you to hold signing up for the site until after the interview, please.”
He smiled and waved as the crowd chuckled and clapped.
“And, over here, we have Rhiannon Hunter.”
Samson raised an eyebrow as the audience erupted into cheers. There was no doubt who everyone was here to see.
Rhiannon took another drink of water while Helena indulgently waited for the noise to die down. “Rhiannon is the creator of Crush. Built on that familiar swiping platform, it’s often called the more empowered response to app dating, where users have more control in curating who they see and how they communicate with their matches.The customizability of the app seems to appeal to a lot of people. Crush currently has about twenty-six million subscribers.”
Rhiannon crossed her legs. Her sneakers were a matte gold, a pop of color in her otherwise somber outfit. “It’s closer to thirty million.”
Helena chuckled. “Okay, thirty million.”
Thirty million was a lot more than Matchmaker’s eight million. Samson worried anew for Annabelle. Matchmaker had an app, but only due to Jennifer’s insistence. Annabelle had fought her every step in migrating their platform or altering their time-consuming sign-up process.
Matchmaker was behind, and Jennifer had leaned into being the “old-fashioned” option, but Samson really hoped their lag didn’t eventually tank the company. His aunt had had a rough year, what with losing Jennifer and Joe, and she didn’t need any more loss.
Helena waited for the applause to die down, and then turned to Samson. “I think we can all agree that the internet has made dating so different now. Samson, why don’t you explain what makes Matchmaker the place to be?”
Samson launched into his memorized talking points. “For anyone who’s taken Matchmaker’s questionnaire, you know how in-depth it gets, how long it takes. Now, some people may say that that’s a negative, that time-intensive process, but I think anything that forces us to slow down and think about ourselves and what we’re looking for is a good thing. Life is too fast paced. Your relationships shouldn’t be.”
Helena tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Do youthink apps are too fast paced for anyone to make a solid connection?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Clearly people do make connections.” He tried to tread carefully. He didn’t want to attack Crush. This was a friendly panel, and the crowd was already here for Rhiannon.
Also, Rhiannon might murder him. “When you’re on a phone and you’re swiping, you’re spending a second? A fraction of a second? On each person. That’s not enough time to get to know them. That’s more of a game than anything.”
“Have you ever used a dating app, Samson?” Rhiannon interjected.
That felt like a trap. He answered honestly. “Only once, for a short period of time. I deleted it almost immediately.”
“Is that how long you spent on each person?”
“No, but I think I’m an outlier.” He’d scrutinized Rhiannon’s—Claire’s—single photo for a while and read her short profile ten times before swiping right. He had it memorized.
Looking for Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right. Swipe right if you’re down for a night of fun and you’re not going to be a dick about protection or pleasure.
If he hadn’t been staring at her, he would have missed the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Well, even if some people view it as a game, and you can’t deny that there are those who see any kind of dating as a game, this”—she made a swiping motion—“disrupted how we connect online. Fifty years ago, your potential mate was in a bar or a grocery store. Twenty years ago, your potential mate was on theircomputer. Today, this is where your potential mate is, on their phone, on their app, swiping for you. Maybe there are slower-paced ways to evaluate someone, but this is where you’ll get the largest pool to choose from.”
All that made sense, but he couldn’t let her paint Matchmaker as a relic from decades ago. “It should be about quality, not quantity.”
Rhiannon’s teeth flashed, and she snapped the trap, looking out at the darkened audience. “How many quality people here are on or have been on Crush?”
