I have my kid every other weekend.
Looking for that unicorn to join me and my gf.
I own 16 guns.
Only girls with D cups swipe right.
Confederate flag.
And there it is.
Jae, 27. I’ll make you tea and feed you all the sushi you want. Find me either in the kitchen or on the beach.
The profile for Jae.
He smiles at my flat face through the screen, dressed in histoque blanche, standing in front of the bar at Red Kettle. I swipe through his photos. A shirtless pic of him standing in crystal blue, knee deep water. I screenshot it. For later.
A photo of him slicing some salmon in some other kitchen I don’t recognize. A photo of him wearing a moss green beanie and sipping an iced coffee. I consider swiping right on him, briefly. It’s not like he still uses this app. I bet he would have shown me his profile yesterday if he did.
I see he has several tattoos across his chest. A smattering of roses and peonies. Two koi fish. A tiger crawling across his shoulder. I wonder if he still looks like that. He is muscular, but soft around the edges. He looks like he swims a lot. He has a golden tan.
Still, he looks strong enough to lift me and then some. His biceps are round and his shoulders broad, like he cradles and carries girls over the threshold of his door every Saturday night, bride-style, and tosses them into his California king bed after wining and dining them with some caviar and prosecco.
Shit.
I should not be thinking about Jae lifting me. Or then some. I shove down my weird feeling that I want to be that girl carried like a game-winning football over the threshold of a door and tossed into a gigantic bed.
Fuck it. I swipe right on him.
IT’S A MATCH!
Are you fucking kidding me? Why is he swiping on me? To fuck with me?
Lily is startled awake by my exasperated sigh and gives me a big, puppy dog yawn. “Me too, girl.” I pat her wide, Dorito-shaped head and stand up. I’m going to kill him.
The plan is simple. Knock on Jae’s door,my old door,and ask him what the deal is with the match, force him to unmatch me, and leave. I pull up our match on my phone screen in case he tries to pull one over on me and claim he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
Phone in hand, I rap on his door. “Jae, it’s me, Riley!” I call. No answer. “Jae!” I knock again, press my ear against the door and hear the faint sounds of music and water running. Is he doing laundry? Cooking? Taking a shower? Fuck.I’d lose my courage to come back if he doesn’t answer now.
“Jae!” I try again. I knock a little more ferociously this time. “Let’s go! Open up! It’s urgent!” I hear the water turn off and the music stop and a faintHuhand I bang on the door with both fists. “It’s Riley!”
Jae opens the door, the top half of his head peering around the corner through his chain lock. Water droplets fall from his forehead. “What do you?—”
“What’s the meaning of this?” I interject, shoving my phone in his face through the crack in the door. “Explain right now.”
“Right now?” he repeats.
“Right now.” I confirm.
“You’re so dramatic.”
He undoes the lock but still holds the door open only enough for his face to peep through. “Let me in,” I huff and he steps aside and opens the door for me.
He is shirtless. In fact, he is pantsless, too. He’s in a stupid, little white towel that looks like he stole it from the pool of a Best Western. It’s the tiniest bath towel known to man and he has the body of a giant compared to it.
His skin is pink from a hot shower. Freckles on his shoulders. Chiseled chest muscles and tattoos adorn him, flat stomach with a smattering of hair that disappears farther than I can bring myself to look.
I feel my cheeks burn a painful shade of pink and I know it’s traveling to my ears. He looks even better than in his picture. He could definitely pick me up. He could definitely toss me somewhere. Could he tell I was checking him out? No way. Am I checking him out?
