“Uh... I’m not sure,” I say. “I don’t know which one he is.”
“Exactly. Is he the tall guy who just completed the 5K or the short, bald guy holding the sign?”
I shoot him a look, which he ignores. He holds the phone upagain. “And let’s take a look at Chaz.” His eyes jump to mine. “First of all—Chaz?”
I laugh.
“Second of all”—he glances down and reads—“‘My ex was crazy’ with three exclamation points.”
I wince.
“There’s a whole language out here, and I can teach you.”
“Like a dating mentor.”
“Or like afriend.” He clicks the phone off. “You’re new here. You’re fresh off what I’m assuming was a bad divorce, and I want to make sure you aren’t going out with guys who are only going to make it worse.”
I frown. “Why would you do that?”
He squints over at me. “Let’s see if I can get this right... You’re recently divorced, haven’t been on a date in, oh, maybe”—he pulls a face—“twenty years?”
Longer, but who’s counting?
“You don’t understand why the real-life meat market has now moved to the little device in your hands, and it feels a little”—he scrunches his nose—“gross. But also? You’re mildly curious if you can figure out a way to navigate it.”
I start to respond, then snap my jaw shut.
“Well, shoot. Yeah, that’s exactly how I feel,” I admit.
He purses his lips. “Despite what you think, I’m actually a nice guy.” He leans toward me. “And I know what guys are looking for.”
“I know what guys are looking for too,” I say. “To sleep with as many women half their age as they can.”
He whistles. “This is worse than I thought.”
I cross my arms. “Experience is the best teacher.”
“Not all guys are like that,” he says.
“Oh, really?” My tone challenges.
“No. Some guys even want relationships.” He whispers this, like it’s a secret he’s sharing against his better judgment.
I chuckle to myself, thinking of the irony. “Do you know any of these guys?”
He leans in slightly. “I was married once too.”
“Oh.” In a blink, the story I’d written about him shifts and changes. Again. What if I’ve pegged him all wrong?
“So, I think to start, you just need to play up your very attractive qualities,” he says, unaware that I’m inwardly chastising myself for being so judgy and bitter.
My stomach swoops without my permission, but I quickly right myself. I shift the basket of muffins on my lap. “My ‘very attractive qualities’?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
“And what would those be?” Did that sound as desperate as it felt?
He leans back and studies me for a beat too long, making me feel like I’m onstage in a spotlight. Naked.
