“No way.”

“Uh-huh. So I’m wrong about your intentions?”

“No, but I’m sure if we put our heads together we could find a more diplomatic way of saying it,” I say dryly. “How about this?”

I write:

Recently single. New to this and not looking for anything serious right now.

“Not bad,” Hunter relents. “And maybe we should add a few interests. Here, let me.” He snatches the phone again, chortling as he types.

When he passes it back, I can’t stop a laugh.

Fascinated by child psychopaths, unhealthy relationship with food, will break your PlayStation if you f*%k with me.

“That makes me sound like a lunatic,” I say.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that none of those things are accurate.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Then I delete what he wrote and change it to: crime show enthusiast, food lover, all-around awesome person.

One again, Hunter concedes. “I like it. All right, hit next to finalize the account.”

I obey his command, then offer a nervous grin. “Now what?”

“Now we swipe.”

20

Demi

I had no idea there were so many men in the world. Obviously, I was aware the global population is in the billions, but how are there this many guys on this app, all within a sixty-mile radius of me? It’s way too much data. I’m on sensory overload as my finger flicks past profile after profile.

Like Dan, who enjoys kickboxing.

Or Kyle, who’s here for a good time, not a long time.

Or Chris, who wants me to “just ask.”

Or another Kyle, who describes himself with three eggplant emojis.

And another Kyle! This one likes to eat out. Hint hint, nudge nudge.

“Ewww! Why are all the Kyles so repulsive?” I demand.

Hunter thinks it over. “Coincidence,” he finally answers.

“Coincidence? That’s your best guess?” I can’t stop laughing. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I swipe to the next profile and gasp. “Oooh, I like him. Let’s swipe right on Roy.”

Hunter examines the potential suitor’s photos. He whistles softly. “Fuck yeah. Check out those obliques. I’d do him.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.” I grumble in disappointment when Roy and I don’t match. The last three guys I swiped right on, I matched instantly with.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Hunter says helpfully. “A guy with a body like that has options.”

Literally two seconds later, a bubble pops up announcing I matched with Roy.

“Ha!” I say in triumph.

Hunter grins. “Looks like you made the cut.”

“What about this guy?” I ask about the next profile.

“He’s wearing sunglasses and a hat in every picture. He’s either bald and ugly, or a murderer. Though I’m sure the latter would be enticing for you.”

“Oh, for sure. I’d sell my firstborn to be able to psychoanalyze a killer.”

“It worries me that I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

We swipe for a bit longer, but all the faces are melding together. I’m starting to get bored and the messages are starting to pour in. “Let’s talk to some of these matches and weed out the ones we don’t like,” I suggest.

But it doesn’t take long to realize we’re dealing with a quantity over quality situation.

“Christ, these messages are lame,” Hunter groans.

What’s up beautiful?

You’re so hottttt.

9 inches, at your service.

“Hard pass,” I declare, and promptly unmatch Mr. 9 Inches. I open the next message and give it a skim. The guy, Ethan, wrote an entire paragraph introducing himself. “Jeez. Check this one out.”

Hunter reads the message and whistles. “No way. He’s too thirsty. I don’t like him.”

“Me neither.” We seem to be on the same wavelength when it comes to the vibes we’re getting from these men.

Finally, I reach Roy’s message.

Hey Demi! I know this sounds cliché, but you’ve got beautiful eyes. How’s your night going?

“I like him,” I announce.

Hunter chuckles. “Isn’t it sad that all they have to do to gain our approval is possess basic conversational skills and not talk about their cocks? Shows how low of a bar we’re dealing with here.”

“You’re right—that’s sad as fuck. What should I say back?”

“Tell him you like his man-vee.”

Ignoring the suggestion, I type, Thanks! Your eyes are pretty nice too. So is the rest of you ;)

Hunter mock gasps. “Demi, you hussy!”

I grin and send a follow-up message.

ME: My night is okay. Doing some schoolwork. How about you?

HIM: My night would be a lot better if we were having a beer together :)

“Oh, he is good,” Hunter remarks.

HIM: What do you say? Should we meet up for a drink tonight?

“Ask him to go to Malone’s,” is Hunter’s advice.

“What? Right now? We’ve literally exchanged three messages.”

“So? You’re not looking for a pen pal or a sexting buddy. The point of this is to get a date, right? You need to meet in person to know if there’s any chemistry.”

“But does it have to be tonight?”

“Why not?”

“I have plans with TJ.”

“Then ask to meet up tomorrow. But trust me, a guy with an ass like that doesn’t last long on the meat market. I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

I chew on my bottom lip. I suppose I could reschedule with TJ—he and I see each other all the time. And it might be nice to go on a date with someone new. I haven’t done that since high school, during one of my breaks with Nico.

“Okay,” I decide. “I’m meeting Roy tonight.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hunter raises his hand.

We high-five, and then I nervously type out a response to Roy. We make arrangements to meet at Malone’s in an hour. Hunter offers to drive me.

Next, I message TJ.

ME: I need a rain check on dinner. I have a......DATE. Gasp! Can you believe it? How’s tomorrow night?

I see him typing, but it takes almost a full minute before the message arrives.

TJ: No prob. Tomorrow works.

ME: Okay perfect. You da best.

TJ: xoxo

There’s an army of butterflies wreaking havoc on my stomach. “Oh God,” I tell Hunter. “I’m so nervous! And I only have an hour to take a shower and figure out what to wear.”

“Go take the shower. I’ll pick an outfit for you.” Hunter’s already striding toward my closet.

“Clothes,” I warn, wagging my finger at him. “Please pick real clothes, Hunter.”