Holly
Me:So what do you say, old buddy, old pal? Are we building a computer tomorrow night after class?
Five minutes later…
Cole:OK. You’ve convinced me. It’s been a bit of a day…but I know Jane will appreciate this. Thank you.
Me:You won’t regret this!
Cole:I already regret this.
Me:You’re smiling right now. I can sense that you’re smiling.
Cole:I plead the fifth.
Three maddening dots linger on the screen and then disappear. I scowl at my phone.
Rowan sits down on the couch beside me with all the grace of a lumbering ox and grabs my phone.
“Hey, what gives?” I ask as he grins at me. “Are you still mad at me for telling Bryn about your hot and heavy makeout sesh on the couch the other day? Because I’ll have you know, I seriously considered washing the cushion covers. For about five minutes. Laziness is the only thing holding me back from taking over the world.”
I make a grab for the phone, and he holds it over his head. Shit. I really don’t want him to see what’s on the screen. It’s bad enough that he and Bryn have been razzing me about the guy I’m messaging on Matchmake Me.
“Who’re you talking to?” he says playfully, waving the phone around. “Your imaginary boyfriend?”
I make another grab, but he gets to his feet. I do too, but height is most definitely on his side. His father was taller than my dad. Don’t let the five-eleven on his dating profile fool you; Auggie the Doggie is not a centimeter taller than five-seven.
“For the last time,” I say, making a jump that gets me nowhere fast. “Hot Rod is not imaginary. Or at least, I’m reasonably sure he’s a real person. If I’m getting catfished, then our app isn’t as good as I think it is.”
I already have some tweaks to make, based on my conversation with Hot Rod. I mean, seriously, Judith—about 90% of online dating is making harmless sexual jokes. I need to teach her to read the room. Actually, seeing what she redacts and doesn’t redact has been a helpful exercise in fine-tuning how my girl works.
I make another grab, but Rowan easily eludes me. His gaze flicks to the screen, and his expression sours faster than it did that time he tried to chug soured milk. Really, we need someone to take care of us. Bryn shouldn’t let us live on our own like animals left out to pasture.
“Holly,” he says, promptly lowering his arm and letting me reclaim the phone.
I do, getting a flash of “Asshole: Do Not Answer” at the top of the screen.
“You were talking to Cole, weren’t you?Why?”
“I told you,” I say nonchalantly, tucking the phone into my pocket. “His daughter’s in my class. The one Rory’smakingme teach.” Better to sound reluctant about it, even if it has ended up being kind of enjoyable. “She’s pretty chill.”
No need to mention to him that I also volunteered to look into the Labelles for Cole. I haven’t really, besides the most cursory of searches. He made it pretty clear he didn’t want my help on that count, and if I spend my time looking anyway, he might think it means something.
“An eight-year-old girl is pretty chill?” Rowan asks in disbelief, his eyebrows winging up.
“She is! She loves computers, and she gives everyone a hard time.Especiallyher dad. You know, the other day, she told me her father was in danger of giving himself hemorrhoids if he didn’t chill out. How cool is that?”
“Holly,” he says again, rubbing a hand over his short beard. He looks worried, and Rowan’s not exactly the type of guy who frets about things like feelings. Most of the time, he seems like he’d prefer to think no one has them, himself included.
Shit. This isn’t good.
“Rowan,” I say, mimicking his officious tone. I make my way into the connected kitchen and grab two beers—Buchanan Brewery, not Ziggy—and open them with the magnet we keep on the fridge. I come back and hand him one.
He takes it, still giving me a worried look that makes me feel a little sick.
“It’s like you said, I’ve got my imaginary boyfriend on the app. I’m trying to be chill with Cole. Don’t therapists always tell you to let go of your resentments and shit?”
“Swear jar,” he says.
