His squatter’s ass.

I think back to those images on the web, the photos of him in his wrestling singlet, which barely leaves anything to the imagination. Every corded muscle. Every thick vein. His back, shoulders, and dense thighs all on display for my wandering, prying eyes, and I wonder what I’ll do with them when I finally get the chance to put my hands on his skin in real life—not just in my imagination.

It’s been forever since I’ve touched a guy, so who knows if I’ll know what to do with myself.

Time will tell.

He’s been gone a few minutes when his phone begins to buzz. It’s facing upward so when it lights up, my eyes naturally wander to the screen…

…drawn to that familiar yellow icon in the corner of the display, the LoveU logo prominently glowing.

My face flushes, filled with surprise.

He’s still swiping and chatting with girls on the app?

My heart sinks like a stone to the bottom of a deep pool, the excited nerves turning to dread. Impulsive, my first instinct is to get up and leave; common sense tells me to stay, says he and I are not committed enough that I have a say in this.

I have no right to tell him what to do.

We are on our first date.

Still, the shock of seeing the app light up his phone is a bit too much. It’s the cold bucket of reality I needed dumped on my head; he’s too good to be true.

Smart, handsome, funny. Kind and polite.

I thought he was one of the good guys. Thought maybe he was a one woman kind of guy.

Guess I was wrong.

The proof is lighting up his phone every few minutes, and I feel dumb sitting here waiting for him to return from the bathroom, not a clue what I’ll say when he sits back down.

Another three minutes and he’s back, all smiles, returning the napkin to his lap before giving me his undivided attention. Placing his hand back on the table so I’ll take it.

My heart.

My hands remain in my lap, one clasping the other, fidgeting as I find my words, needing to speak my mind.

I’ll regret it if I don’t.

“What’s wrong?”

Add insightful to his growing list of amazing qualities.

“I’m not sure. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

“What happened while I was in the bathroom? Did something happen?” He sits up, ramrod straight, glancing around the restaurant. “Why is your face so pale?”

Is it?

My hands fly to my face and I press on my cheeks; they’re hot, not cool. My heart inside my chest palpitates.

I hate confrontation.

I lick my lips, wishing I had lip balm. “Maybe this isn’t a big deal. I don’t know—I hate that I’m bringing it up, because this is our first date and we’re having a really good time, but your phone keeps going off, and I couldn’t help but notice…”

He waits, making no move to touch his cell.

“Just look at your phone, Abe. I promise I’m not a snoop, but it kept lighting up while you were in the bathroom and I couldn’t help but notice the app that was popping up.”

His eyes bore into me before he picks the phone off the table, palms it, and taps it with his giant thumb.

Looks, sees the notifications.

Looks at me.

“Skylar.”

Just one word—my name—and I know he’s guilt-ridden. I can see it in his crestfallen expression.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really? Because it looks like you’re on a date with me and still talking to other girls online.”

“I’m not.”

“Look, it’s none of my business—I don’t care what you do.”

Lies, lies, lies.

Because if he’s going to date me, it will be my business, and I expect him to be faithful without having to discuss it time and time again. It will be an expectation from day one.

This moment is our day one.

Or was.

He seems to be weighing his options, an internal debate flashing in his eyes about the explanation he’s going to give me.

“Whatever excuse you’re dreaming up in your head, just save it, okay? Tell me the truth.”

He has nothing to lose…except me.

“I’m going to be brutally honest with you, okay? Can you hold off on commenting until you hear me out, let me say what I need to say, and promise not to get mad?”

Promise not to get mad? Is he serious? I’m already halfway there!

“Nope.”

To add insult to injury, another notification from LoveU comes in, the glowing screen harsher than the crash of a cymbal, punctuating how awkward this situation has just become.

“Is that another girl?”

He doesn’t check the phone, but we both know it is. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”

The silence between us isn’t only awkward; it’s deafening.

“Would you say something?”

Something, I think sarcastically.

“I’m not the one who’s supposed to be explaining themselves. You are.”

“You think this is easy? I feel like such an idiot.”

That makes two of us.

Then, I do that thing girls do when they’re pretending not to be pissed; I passively aggressively act like I’m fine. “I have nothing to say. Everything is great. Dinner is great. I’m just waiting for you to tell me what’s going on, Abe.”

“I’ll tell you when you stop looking so pissed off.”

“Do I look pissed? That’s weird. What makes you say that?”

Abe’s big body reclines in his seat; arms crossed, he studies me from across the table. “For starters, your nostrils are flaring.”

My fingers fly to my face, feeling around the skin of my nose.

Shit, he’s right—my nostrils are flaring. That can’t be attractive.

“Your skin is bright red.”

“That’s because I’m so pale. It’s warm in here.”

“And your leg is bouncing up and down under the table.”

I rest the palm of my hand on my knee, applying pressure to make it stop. The water glasses and silverware immediately stop rattling.

“Anything else?” I can’t keep the snark out of my voice.

“No.” He’s quiet now. “You look like your feelings are hurt.”

How observant he is.

My feelings are hurt, but I’m not about to lay it all on the line for a guy I just met, on our first date. I don’t have that right.

Do I? Or would I just sound crazy and controlling?

“Will you let me explain?”

“I thought you already did.” I lower my voice to a deep baritone, mimicking a man’s voice and doing an atrocious job of it. “Skylar, it’s not what it looks like.”

Wow. When did I become so snippy?

Abe is patient, waiting me out. Waits for my cheeks to return to their natural color, my leg to stop bouncing, my nostrils to stop flaring.

I think he’s also waiting for me to stand up and walk out.

Instead, I tilt my chin up. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“You were right when you assumed it was the LoveU app. I was on it, but it’s not my account. I don’t have one of my own.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m logged in under Jack’s account.”