Seventy-fucking-two of these. Argh. I set my phone down and stare at it, rubbing my thumbs against the pads of my middle fingers.Just delete it, I tell myself.Delete it and you never have to know…
But then I’llnever know,and that’s killing me. “This is such a stupid idea,” I shake my head and mutter to myself. Against my better judgment, I tap on one of the notifications.
A profile picture pops up. A brown-haired guy with serious golden retriever energy. Cute, but no. Hesitantly, I swipe left. Another image takes its place.
“Salt and pepperdaddy,”I laugh, swiping right as I tuck my feet up under me on the couch. Left-left-left-right-left-right-left-left-left-left. I don’t know what I was so intimidated by. This is… kind of fun. I’m polishing off my third glass of wine and swiping left on an “entrepreneur” from Portland when I choke on my last gulp of Malbec.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, wiping a lady-like dribble from the corner of my mouth as I stare at the profile picture for ‘Harkness, 33, Sugar Creek, ME’. Harkness… like the hottie from Doctor Who? Yes, please.
This guy isn’t showing his face, but from the waistband of his swimsuit to his muscular neck, he’s a panty melting dream. He has abs fordays, but he’s thick. Like, football player thick. Like Viking thick. Tattoos span his broad chest, trailing down his sides, and covering his arms to mid-forearm. One catches my eye and I try to zoom in but can’t get it clear enough to be sure.
“Aaaand swiping right on you, sir…” I snort as I drag my finger over the glass. “Like the poet said, ‘You don’t have to look at his face if you’re sitting on it.’”
A second later, a pretty little bell chimes as a notification pops up and I jolt upright, clutching my phone.
“You have a new note from Harkness.” I tap the pop up and read the message.
HARKNESS: What’s your ideal Sunday morning?
ME: Huh. That’swaymore thought provoking than what I was expecting.
H: What were you expecting? I don’t want to let you down. ??
I bite my lip, smiling down at my phone.
ME: I guess I was expecting something cheesy, like ‘Hey gorgeous.’
Three little dots pop up in the corner and then:
H: Hey gorgeous, what’s your ideal Sunday morning?
I laugh and settle back on my sofa.
ME: I feel bad admitting it, but I love a lazy morning. Give me coffee in bed and I’m a happy girl. What about you?
H: I should have gone first. Now you’re not going to believe me when I tell you.
I’m grinning like a crazy person.
ME: Try me.
I take a sip of wine while I wait for his response.
H: Ok, but remember I warned you. I actually have a fetish for getting up early and delivering coffee to beautiful women so they can stay in bed.
I cackle, nearly dropping my phone.
ME: You’re right. I don’t believe you. But good try!
H: Damn. Ok, second favorite way to spend a Sunday morning… Brunch on my back deck.
ME: You cook?
H: I do. But don’t ask me to bake anything.
ME: Lol - I have the baking covered. That’s what I do.
H: Confession - I already knew that about you.