Without a word, I moved toward the cupboard and reached for a glass.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.
Oh, boy.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“It was a mistake,” she said, never once looking up from her scrub job. “I drank way too much sangria, and I made a stupid decision.”
“Okay.”
Vanessa didn’t need to justify her romp with Ray to me; honestly, I was the last person to judge someone for making a bad man-related decision. But she seemed intent on explaining herself, anyway.
“Really, I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s so not like me to jump into bed with someone I’m not seriously involved with. I always wait until at least the third date to have sex, usually longer.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I said.
“Yes, it is.” She turned off the water and threw the sponge in the sink. “I am so embarrassed. I mean, Ray, of all people.”
“You could’ve done worse.”
She snorted. “Not likely.”
“He’s a really nice guy.” With a really nice ass.
“He’s the super.”
“Well, think of it this way—if you’re dating the building super, you’ll be allowed to have rooftop parties whenever you want.”
Her face twisted in disgust. “That is so not funny. Anyway, I think after that fire, we won’t be allowed on the rooftop anytime soon.”
“Ray didn’t get in trouble, did he?”
“No. Only one neighbor complained, but Ray managed to keep him from calling the landlord. We were all really lucky that nothing seriously bad happened, though, so he’s putting the kibosh on future rooftop parties.”
“That’s probably for the best.” I filled my glass with water, regarding Vanessa out of the corner of my eye. “When that fire broke out, Ray jumped into action fast.”
“Yeah. He was so on top of things.”
“He seems like a dependable guy.”
She smiled wistfully. “He is.”
“Plus, he’s super handy.”
“Oh my God, did you see how flawlessly he strung up those lights? Perfectly symmetrical.”
“He’s definite boyfriend material.”
Vanessa’s wistful smile hardened to a scowl. “No.”
“Why not?”
“He lives in Bensonhurst.”
“So?”
“With his mother.”
“Oh.” Granted, I wouldn’t be too thrilled about the idea of having sex with a guy under his mother’s roof. But I thought of how radiant she looked, emerging from her bedroom in that silk kimono. “He’s obviously smitten with you, though. And it seemed like you were really happy last night.”
“I wasn’t happy—I was drunk.” She peeled off her rubber gloves and slapped them down on the kitchen counter. “Besides, lots of people are happy when they first meet someone, when everything’s new and the sex is hot and they have no idea what it is they’re getting into. Happiness is irrelevant.”
Everything’s new. The sex is hot. That sounded a lot like me and Alex.
“You’re talking about choosing a partner,” I said. “How could happiness be irrelevant? What could possibly be more important than being happy?”
“Like-mindedness. Compatibility. And you figure all that out by doing your research beforehand.” She tapped her temple. “Knowledge is power. That’s why I go to Vilma. The more you know about a guy beforehand, the less likely you are to suffer some horrible breakup that leaves you shattered into a million pieces.” Her lower lip twitched, then she took a deep breath. “Speaking of which, Vilma arranged a date for me on Tuesday night. I’ve gotta go call my stylist now and see if she can squeeze me in later today. This balayage is starting to look dull.”
With that, Vanessa retreated to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. I stood there, staring at the empty space she left behind, marveling at how quickly she was able to dismiss a future with Ray. Living with his mom was an issue, but surely, he couldn’t live with her forever.
Then again, was Vanessa’s process of elimination really any different from the way I’d filtered out potential mates using Fluttr? I often made my decisions in under two seconds, based on factors that were far more superficial. Who knows how many potentially good dates I’d left-swiped because of a goofy smile or a bad camera angle?
Not that any of that mattered now. Because now I had Alex. And if things continued to go well with the two of us, I’d never have to use Fluttr again. In fact, I was going to go back to my room and deactivate my profile immediately.
And that’s just what I did.
When it was done, I scrolled through my Instagram feed, catching up on everything that had happened while I’d been sexing and sleeping. Whit had clearly had a late night, posting a 3:00 a.m. selfie in front of a DJ booth at that club in Greenpoint. Dani, on the other hand, had gotten up early and posted a photo of her coffee cup next to her laptop, with the caption: Sunday morning torture session #dissertating.
And then there was Lia’s photo: a bouquet of lavender roses, arranged in a crystal vase. She’d posted it twenty minutes ago and captioned it: Flowers from bae. Apparently, Jay had apologized.
I clicked on Lia’s profile and swiped through her most recent photos, stopping when I got to a selfie she’d taken last week. A close-up of their faces, their cheeks pressed together. He was average-looking; a little on the old side, but he wore it well. Salt-and-pepper hair, a couple of distinguished wrinkles around the eyes. He looked decent.
But looks could be deceiving.
Just to be safe, I loaded JerkAlert and searched for “Jay, 41, Midtown.” When the page displayed NO MATCHING PROFILES, I realized how silly I was being. Couples had disagreements all the time. Guys flaked, girls cried. Flowers were sent as apologies. It didn’t mean Jay was a bad guy.
It didn’t mean he was a good guy, either, but the absence of a JerkAlert profile was encouraging nonetheless. As nutty as I’d thought Vanessa sounded with all her talk of matchmaking, there was some truth to be found in her words. Having knowledge made me feel powerful. Maybe JerkAlert could be a useful tool for avoiding not only dick pics, but heartbreak, too.
A twinge seized my chest as I remembered the panicky look on Alex’s face when I’d caught him getting dressed in a hurry. He’d had a perfectly reasonable explanation. He’d even written a note. He was a decent guy. But who knew if he was telling the truth?