“Well, then it has to be a random guy. I can’t hook up with one of my friends—that’s just a recipe for disaster.”

“Exactly!” Hunter says triumphantly. “Ergo, stop trying to rebound me.”

“Is that a verb?”

“It is now.”

“Anyway, so you’re out because of the broken dick. Pax is gay—”

“Yeah, Jax isn’t a good candidate.”

I roll my eyes. “TJ is too—”

“—in love with you,” Hunter finishes.

“He’s not in love with me. But he’s too good of a friend and he’s super sensitive. I could see him getting emotionally attached.”

“Got it. So you want a guy who won’t get emotionally attached.”

“Pretty much.”

“Are you on Tinder?”

“I’ve been dating the same guy since I was thirteen. Of course I’m not on Tinder.”

“Then you should be. It’s the easiest way to find a no-strings hook-up or friend with benefits. Come to think of it, that’s probably a better fit for you. You need a FWB.”

“Why’s that?”

Hunter offers a shrug. “I think you’d feel sleazy after a one-night stand. Like you said, you were with the same guy since the age of thirteen. You’re used to a certain level of intimacy.”

He has a point. “So you think I need someone who I’ll see more than once.”

“Yup yup—”

“Don’t say yup yup.”

“—this will be fun. Come on, let’s download the app.” With a wolfish grin, he climbs onto my bed and flops down beside me. A moment later, we’re downloading—ugh—Tinder.

“I only have an hour or so for this,” I warn. “I’m meeting TJ for dinner tonight.”

“In town or on campus?”

“Carver Hall.”

“Then we have plenty of time. Carver’s like down the street from you.” Hunter watches as I load the app. “Oh, this is so exciting. I get to live vicariously through you.”

“When your dick was functional, were you ever on any of these apps?”

“Nah. Do you realize how easy it is for me to get sex, Semi?”

“You’re such an egomaniac.”

“No, I’m a hockey player. I could literally walk out my front door and there’d be a woman standing there ready to screw me.”

He’s probably right. I’m still not much of a hockey fan, but I have been making an effort to pay attention when it’s on. My favorite part of hockey is when the half-naked men get interviewed in the locker room after the game. So I can definitely see the appeal.

“Also, we’re in college. Dating apps aren’t really necessary since everyone’s always partying and being social. It’s easy to meet people on campus.”

“Then why am I setting this up?” I grumble.

“Because we’re fishing for a specific kind of meeting. When you want a particular thing, you filter out everything else. Yeah, you could sit in a bar, wait for different guys to approach you, and try to figure out what they’re looking for. But this way you go into it knowing exactly what they want.”

“Fair enough.” Excitement tickles my belly as I set up the account. I use my phone number to log in, because I don’t want my social media linked to this craziness. When it’s time to load my profile picture, Hunter slides closer and watches me scroll through my camera roll.

He smells fantastic. It’s a woodsy, masculine scent and I’m tempted to bury my face in his neck and inhale. However, I think that could be construed as sexual harassment.

“How about this one?” I click on a photo that I think I look super cute in.

Hunter balks. “Seriously? Who are we trying to attract here? Young Republicans? No. The first profile photo needs to show some skin.”

“What do you mean, skin? Like a nude?”

“Of course not, dumbass. I don’t think that’s even allowed. But you sure as shit can’t use this picture. You’re wearing a turtleneck—and that long flowy skirt? You look lumpy, Semi. Do you want the first picture potential suitors see of you to make them say, hey, who’s this lumpy chick?”

“You are such an ass.”

“No, I’m realistic. I’m not trying to be skeevy, but come on. These dudes don’t care about your personality. They care about your looks. They’re literally swiping through photographs deciding if they want to meet you based on those photos.”

“Okay, fine. How about this one?” In this next photo, I’m clad in a tight tank top and denim shorts. My boobs look great and my hair is loose and flowing over one shoulder.

“Better.” Hunter nods his approval. “Stick that one in for now and then we’ll rearrange the order.” He steals the phone from my hand and takes over scrolling duties. “Ah, fuck yes, you definitely want to include this one.”

“No way. I’m in a bikini.”

“Exactly. And you look goddamn edible. You’re searching for a guy to fuck you, Demi. This would make me fuck you.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. Oh lord. He is sitting way too close to be dropping F-bombs like that. And why does he smell so good? Has he always smelled like this? I don’t think we’ve ever sat this close before. Our thighs are touching, and one muscular arm is pressed up against the sleeve of my thin sweater. I can feel his body heat through the material.

“You would really fuck me if you saw this picture?” I study the bathing suit I’m wearing. It’s a red string bikini that reveals a lot of skin. The picture was taken in South Beach, courtesy of my friend Amber.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter confirms, and I notice his eyes have actually glazed over.

“Are you trying to picture what I look like underneath the bikini?” I accuse.

“Yes.”

I lightly punch his shoulder. “Hey, I already offered you the rebound. You declined. Therefore you’re not allowed to fantasize about me now.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

We select a few more pictures. Hunter insists I need a full-body shot, a face shot where I’m staring directly at the camera, and a shot in which I’m smiling with teeth, because apparently not showing teeth means I’ve got the mouth of an old British man. He also lays down the law about Snapchat filters, and any selfies taken from above. According to Hunter, that’s the “deception angle.”

“For the last photo, how about this one with me and my friends?” I suggest. “That way the guys can see I’m a social person.”

“You can’t use that picture. You’re with a bunch of guys. It’s intimidating.”

“Why?”

“Are you joking? They look like huge basketball players.”

“Well, yeah. Because they are.”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “By posting this, you’re pretty much saying these are the kind of guys you can pull. Any guy who doesn’t look like that will be way too scared to swipe on you.”

“You are scarily good at this,” I inform him.

“It’s common sense, Semi. Now let’s write your profile. We want to keep it short. My recommendation? Three letters. D. T. F.”