Perhaps too hard. Holly would say I was being ridiculously picky.
Too young. Too old. Forehead too big. Chin too weak. Hair way too pretty. I couldn’t date a guy prettier than me. Or a guy with a rock-hard body who wanted me to be a gym rat too. I needed a man who could appreciate a soft body and thick thighs. Should I put that on my bio or would that scare people off? Wait, did I care if they got scared off by my curves? No, I didn’t want them anyway. And then I felt annoyed that men would be judging me based on my appearance, just like I was doing to them. This was all sorts of icky.
Left, left, left.
Why did so many men say they went to the school of Hard Knocks?
I stopped when that guy in a suit with a cute face popped back up from earlier. Dean. Twenty-five. One year older than me. Worked in Manhattan at a law firm but lived in Jersey. Liked craft beers. That was it for the bio. I went through his pictures and found a nice variety. One sweaty gym picture but he had a sleeveless shirt on. He was tall. Wow. Really tall. Six foot three, exactly a foot taller than me. Oh, and he looked adorable in a backwards baseball hat at a Mets game. Okay. Here goes nothing.
I swiped right. Immediately a match came onto the screen and sparked, then lit like an exploding firework, and our two profile pictures came together. We were matched. Gah! And now it was telling me to write him a message! Oh, shit. I had to talk to him? Of course, I had to talk to him! Oh, my God. This was a real person. A man. A complete stranger.
What was I doing?
Holy crap, I was sweating. I fanned my shirt a couple times and took a deep breath, reminding myself this was all normal. This was how people dated. It wasn’t a big deal. But I wasn’t ready to message this Dean guy yet. I would just keep browsing.
My phone bleeped and a banner filled the top of the screen. Dean Sent a Message!
I cursed out loud, heart racing, and touched the banner super fast like it was a stream of lava. It took me to a message screen.
Hello gorgeous!
I stared too long, heart pounding, before responding, my thumbs whizzing across the screen.
Hi. You should know that I have thick thighs.
The moment I hit Send my eyeballs bulged. What the fuck was wrong with me? I cringed super hard until his response popped up.
Lmao! I like thighs…
Omg. I’m so sorry. You are literally the first guy I’ve ever talked to on a dating app. I swear I’m mostly socialized.
It’s all good. You’re funny.
I smiled, feeling relieved that he was nice.
You’re 6”3’? I’m 5”3’
Can you climb?
I let out a chirpy giggle.
Yep. And with my strong thighs I can hold on tight.
Perfection.
I couldn’t stop grinning. This wasn’t so bad.
Are you really a flight attendant?
Yes. I knew what was coming as soon as I sent it.
Are you a member of the mile-high club? And there it was.
No, you perv.
You know I had to ask.
Yeah, yeah. So, you’re a lawyer?
Divorce attorney.
Oh, wow. Yikes.
You have no idea.
It made me sad just thinking about what he’d probably seen and would continue to see throughout his career. Would it make him jaded toward the idea of marriage? Would he ask me for a prenup? And why the heck was I even thinking that far ahead?
I typed: I can’t imagine.
He wrote back: I believe in transparency so I’ll tell you up front I’m coming out of a long-term relationship. It will be awhile before I’m ready to get serious again. I just need to have fun right now. Something casual.
Oh. Damn. My heart sank a little. Honestly, I wasn’t ready for something serious either, so his declaration shouldn’t bother me, but those other phrases scared me. Like “friends with benefits” or the ever-classy “fuck buddies.”
Ah. Gotcha. So you’re looking for just sex right now?
Not necessarily. I let out a breath. Don was the only guy I’d ever been with. In a lot of ways, I knew I was too innocent and naïve when it came to men. But I knew myself enough to know I’d probably get emotionally attached if I slept with someone, so I had to be careful not to set myself up for heartache with some fuck boy.
Okay. I appreciate your honesty. Are you