Kiki: You won’t take the hot man I set you up with, I’m not wasting my tasty breakfast sandwich on you.
I ignore it for now and move onto the next one which is from Lewis, asking me to let him know I got home safely last night. Oops. I shoot off a quick message to tell him I’m alive and unharmed.
My phone wolf-whistles at me. That’s new.
Icebreaker Notification: You have a match.
The contraption slips out of my grip, smacks me on the nose, and bounces off the bed. Curiosity has me scrambling after it. Sliding off the covers and onto my knees beside the mattress.
I have a match? That’s about as likely as developing an allergy to macadamias. Especially since I was still trying to avoid signing up to it last night when Kiki mentioned it, and I don’t recall setting up a profile. But considering I did develop an allergy I’m scared to find out why I’m receiving notifications from an app I didn’t sign up for.
My stomach seesaws and I clutch my head with a whimper. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.
Picking up the device I open the app to find I do indeed have a profile. Violet Queen. Twenty-five years old. Lives in California. Gamer. Likes her career and friends. Dislikes salty nuts.
The lives in California bit is new. The profile picture however is not. It’s an image of me dressed up for a Comic Con I went to with Lewis a couple years ago. My hair was a much darker shade of indigo at the time and I’d gone as a steam punk Sailor Mars. We use a photo from the same event on our blog because we’re both wearing masks and our faces are partially hidden.
I shoot off another text.
Me: I can’t believe you set me up!
Lewis: What are you talking about?
I screen shot my profile and send it to him.
Lewis: Don’t blame me. That is not my handiwork.
Me: I specifically remember saying I didn’t want to do this.
My phone whistles again. Another match. This guy seems to think that his nuts might be the exception to my aversion to salty balls.
“I don’t think so, Mister,” I mutter under my breath as I work out how to delete him from a list of precisely two matches. Good grief, the interface could be a little easier to maneuver while likely still under the influence.
Lewis: I promise I didn’t set you up. If I had I would have made you much more likeable.
Me: Must have been Kiki.
Lewis: I don’t think so. She was too enamoured with her own love life last night to worry about yours.
Me: Trix?
I’m clutching at straws. Trix is the only one of my friends who hasn’t tried to set me up on any kind of date.
Lewis: Watch what you’re accusing my woman of. Maybe you did it yourself and don’t remember. We all celebrated a bit too hard last night. My head feels like someone tried to cave it in with a jackhammer.
I drop my phone in my lap. He’s right. We partied like we were in college, not respectable adults with day jobs and a fast-track plan. It’s not a regular occurrence though. I spend far more of my Friday nights at home pouring over my work.
Pulling myself up with the help of the bed frame I find an oversized T-shirt and pull it on before I stumble into the living room. My bag is near the entrance and I find the stowed bottle of Gatorade and the Tylenol.
I fish out a couple of painkillers and break the seal on the sports drink so I can take the drugs. Did I really sign myself up for this dating app?
My memory is foggy. My recollection is slow. We had cocktails and shots. Kiki’s boyfriend was nice and his friend, erm, Teller, while not someone I want to date, was fun to hang out with. I made a terrible joke about dating my career that I snicker at like it’s the first time I came up with it.
Me: You and Trix left first, right?
Lewis: We all left around the same time. Kiki, Dalton, and Teller shared an Uber. You were adamant you wanted to catch the L.
Okay, so what happened after that? I put the coffee pot on in the kitchen and sink onto a stool while I wait for it to brew. Normally I put it on a timer at night so it’ll be ready for my morning pick me up, but I didn’t last night and I’m paying for it now.
I stare at the Gatorade bottle in my hand while I try to retrace my steps. I had to stop somewhere on my way to the L to pick up my electrolytes and Tylenol. Probably a 7-Eleven. I most likely got food too, if that was the case.
My phone beeps and I glance at it, expecting it to be Lewis again.
Vale: Better today?
I frown at the two word question. Did I see him last night? I must have.
It comes back slowly. We ran into each other at 7-Eleven. He brought me home. I kissed him.
Did I kiss him?
I drop my phone. It falls straight between my legs and clatters on the tiles. Ohmygawd, I kissed him. With my mouth. I press my fingers to my lips. My brother’s best friend. My first crush. The only guy I should never have locked lips with, but always wanted to. I can’t believe I almost forgot that happened.
Oh how I wish I didn’t remember it now. Mortified, I wobble off the stool and pick up the device. Thankfully I have one of those handy-dandy cases on my phone that means I could throw the device across the room and it wouldn’t break. If I kissed him…what else did I do?
My stomach tries to escape through my mouth. Oh no, I said something about riding him, didn’t I? I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. Try to block out the nightmarish embarrassment that’s flooding my system. I feel like there’s more. Is there more?
My fingers work across the screen in a trembling blur.
Me: You brought me home last night?
Vale: Couldn’t leave you on your own. Hud would have killed me.
Me: Did we… Did I say anything weird? Did I do anything?
I sink my teeth into my lip as I await his response. I don’t expect him to actually tell me if he thinks I’ve forgotten. Unless something more than I remember happened between us. Not that anything would have. I can trust him with my life. Or my drunk, naked body. I want to know how embarrassed I should be and how awkward it’ll be between us after this.
Vale: Nope.
So we’re pretending I didn’t make a fool of myself. This is good. I expel the breath I was holding as I tap out a single word response.
Me: Great.
The last thing I need is Vale thinking I’m into him. It would be too awkward. Especially now that I realize I’ve never not been into him. It’s official. I can no longer fool myself into believing I haven’t wanted him for as long as I’ve been aware of the birds and the bees. But that doesn’t mean I should do anything about it. So if he wants to pretend that nothing happened the other night I’m going to play along.
Never have I ever kissed my brother’s best friend. Never have I ever asked him if he wanted to see me naked. Except that’s exactly what I did last night.
Me: So we’re good?
Vale: Never better.
“Great.” I wish I felt a little more relieved by his response, and not so disappointed that he wants to sweep the whole thing under the rug like it didn’t happen at all.