Page 10 of One More Chance
Harper
“How doyou set up one of those online dating profile things?” I ask.
Lyla looks at me, saucers for eyes, like I’ve grown an additional head. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean, I figure it’s time to try something, right?” I shrug my shoulders.
“Yes! But also just let me mentally adjust to this. I was surprised. Caught off guard, if you will.” She takes my phone from me and stares down at the app I’m attempting to download.
“I think Cora has used this one. Let me get her.” She runs from the room and back in, with Cora in tow, leaping onto my bed.
“Okay, girl. What’s going on?” Cora asks.
I look at both of them. They’re staring at me all starry eyed. “Nothing. I just think it’s time to at least try to put myself out there a little, you know? But I don’t know how to work these damn apps.”
“Hold on,” Cora says, grabbing my phone. She clicks, swipes, and clacks for several minutes and then hands me my phone back.
“Is that it?” I look down at my phone, and there seems to be a whole profile there. Even pictures of me.
“Yep. I’ve been on enough of these things. I can throw a profile together pretty fast,” she says.
I scroll through my newly formed profile and the pictures she chose. Not bad, not bad at all. She mentions I’m divorced, that I want to take things slow, and so on. The photos she chose are pretty good too. Nothing too revealing, but they capture me pretty well. “Now what?”
“You just scroll through photos of available men in the area and read down here about them. If you’re interested, hit the thumbs up. If not, thumbs down. If you both give each other a thumbs up, you’ll match and be able to start a chat,” Cora tells me.
“Give it a try!” Lyla says, her voice carrying more excitement about this than my whole body can manage.
I start scrolling through some photos. The first guy is bald. I don’t consider myself superficial, but at twenty-eight, a man with some hair would be nice. Thumbs down. The next guy is shirtless in the mirror with a tattoo of what appears to be his fraternity symbol on his chest. Thumbs down.
“What was wrong with him?” Cora asks.
I look up at her, wondering what sort of man is about to show up at this wedding based on that one comment. “Just not my type.”
The next man is fully dressed, which is promising. He also has hair. That’s two checkmarks on a list of an undetermined number of checkmarks. I read his short bio and everything is great until he says he just wants a girl to “kick it with” and something about that has me turned off. Thumbs down.
“Okay, wait. What was wrong with him?” Lyla asks, staring over my shoulder. The two of them are both huddled in, watching my every move. “You know, some of these guys might not be perfect, but they might be good practice.”
“Practice?”
“Yeah, you know, no future but maybe some fun,” she says, wagging her eyebrows at me.
On reflex, I scrunch up my face. “Even if I wanted that kind of fun, I’m not having fun with a guy who says ‘kick it’ or has a fraternity tattoo.” I stick my tongue out, disgusted both at the thought and their assumption that I’d want to.
They both shrug their shoulders at me and exit, leaving me to flip through this pool of eligible suitors. But from what I can tell so far, it’s more like a cesspool and I think I should’ve brought my boots to wade through this shit.
I lie back on my pillow and keep going, hoping at the very least this little exercise will help me identify what I’m looking for in a guy. When you’ve only been with one man in your entire life, it’s hard to know. Because you haven’t thought about any man beyond him. Do I want a tall guy? A fit guy? Funny guy? Thick? Does he need to work out? All good questions. Right now, all I know is he needs to have hair.
I give my first thumbs up to a guy who, by all accounts, seems to be normal. He didn’t use any hideous language, has hair, and there are no shirtless pics. Right after, a screen pops up saying we matched. If I recall my brief tutorial, this also means he gave me a thumbs up. I briefly consider messaging him, then decide to wait and see if he messages me first.
My phone dings with a text from a number I don’t recognize, so I exit the app and go into my texts.
Unknown Number:Hey! My favorite nostalgic food is pizza. But not just any pizza. Crappy thin cheese pizza dipped in ketchup. Reminds me of simpler times.
I read the text twice, trying to make sense of who and why.
Me:Who is this?
Unknown Number:Jensen, of course. We have to play our game somehow. Thought this would be easier for when we’re not around each other.