Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,11

message and click on the tiny photo attached, my eyes widening when I take him in.

Oh, he’s very…big. As in muscular. Muscles on muscles. He looks tall and broad and like he could mow someone down with ease. He’s definitely very physical. I can see his defined muscles, all that smooth skin exposed, even though he’s clad in a simple black T-shirt, the fabric clinging downright lovingly to his chest.

His biceps—they’re impressive. The sculpted shoulders. They’re impressive too. He has golden-brown hair that’s a little too long and curls at the ends around his face, and friendly brown eyes that seem to smile when he smiles. A lean jaw and a sumptuous mouth. He’s very attractive.

Okay, fine. He’s hot.

A message comes through right as I’m staring at his photo. Send me a photo of you.

I go to my profile to see, yep, there’s the photo Kelsey took of me in my avatar.

You’ve already seen me.

I’d like to see you again. Like right now, he says.

Deciding I may as well go for it, I hold my phone out, tilt my head to the side, stretch my lips into a smile and take a selfie, then check the photo out.

Huh. Should I use a filter? Maybe I should use the dog filter. I always feel like I look super cute with it, the floppy ears and the long, pink tongue. It’s silly and cute and hides what I think is my big nose. Or there’s that other filter on Snapchat, the one that makes my skin look really smooth.

I don’t even have makeup on, my hair is in a messy bun, and here I am contemplating sending him this selfie? Kelsey would tell me no way. She’d make me delete the photo, we’d end up having a “quick” makeup session, and though it would take about thirty minutes and approximately thirty tries with the camera, I’d finally have what Kelsey would consider a semi-decent selfie to send this guy. Mitch. With the friendly brown eyes and the big, muscular body. I bet he knows how to throw a girl around in bed and not wimp out. Not complain about his back once it’s all said and done, like it’s all your fault he hurt himself in the relatively simple act of sex.

Yeah, maybe that’s happened to me before. So what?

Deciding to go for it, I take another photo. And another. No filters. No doggy ears. No floppy, long tongue. When I’m semi-pleased with the results, I send the photo, trying my best to not overthink it.

I immediately take a giant gulp of my wine and then nibble on a piece of cheese. And another one. Pop a few grapes in my mouth. My gaze never leaves my phone screen and when he finally, finally responds, I nearly sag with relief.

I’m sticking to my first statement. You’re absolutely beautiful.

Awww. I rest my hand against my chest, having a moment. My heart is fluttering. He’s so sweet!

Are you in bed right now?

Frowning, I glance around, wondering what clued him in.

Oh. Right. My headboard behind me.

Sighing, I don’t bother taking another photo to try to prove him wrong. I send him a text with an honest answer. I am.

I wish I would’ve thought about taking the photo without my headboard behind me. What if Mr. Friendly Eyes turns our conversation sexual? I just opened the door for him. There’s a statistic floating out there on Facebook or Twitter or whatever that says men think about sex approximately every other second. Is that true?

I should fact check it on Snopes. I’m about to open the Snopes website when I receive a response from Mitch.

It’s pretty early, he responds.

Relief floods me. No sexual talk yet! This is a plus.

I’m tired. Busy weekend. My friend is getting married. We had her bridal shower yesterday and a bunch of us had brunch together today.

Sounds like fun, he says.

It was.

I chew on my lip, wondering if I should tell him. Should I? Oh, why not.

We’re going to Vegas for her bachelorette party in a couple of weeks.

He responds so quick, it’s almost like he was waiting for me to say something.

No kidding? I’ll be living in Vegas in a couple of weeks.

A smile curls my lips.

He sends another text. Maybe, if we’re still talking, we could meet up and hang out.

I’m full-blown smiling now. He’s being very presumptive. That’s usually my thing.

Maybe, I say, wondering if my response sounds as flirtatious in his head as it does in mine.

And then