Aaron, no.
Josh, another Josh, Dylan, and Josh.
“What’s with all the Joshes?” I muse, not swiping on a single one of them.
More than one guy looks like he wants to hide me in his basement and put the lotion in the basket, and I shiver, imagining what a creepy date those would probably be.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Then…
I go back to that list of men who have already swiped on me to see if I missed anyone cute during my hunt, and see that familiar face again, heart racing.
Why would he swipe on me?
Why not just ignore me?
Is this a joke? Did he swipe on me so I’d know he knew I was on a dating app?
My face gets red with embarrassment.
He knows I’m on a dating app.
Shoot me now.
But he’s on the app too.
So? The man is the last person on the planet who needs a dating app to find women. Give me a break. He’s just wasting time.
But…
He did swipe on me.
What would be the harm in swiping back?
If only as a joke.
One… two…
On three, I squeeze my eyes shut—like a total idiot, chickenshit—and swipe right on Duke Colter, my screen lighting up with a blinding YOU HAVE A MATCH!
Oh God.
Why did I do that?
I kick my feet beneath the covers like a teenage girl who’s just been invited to the school dance by a cute boy, butterflies working overtime inside my stomach.
The app wants me to send Duke a message, even giving me several suggestions for opening lines, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to take the first leap. Not when I have no idea why he matched with me in the first place—no way.
So I move along, doing my best to slow my speeding heart, having to pee but not daring to go into the hall.
YOU HAVE A NEW MESSAGE FROMD.
I snicker, stomach roiling.
Shit.