“I slept with his wife a few times.”
“Figures. Speaking of which, have you ended your never-ending dry spell yet? Any new leads on Tinder?”
Only one, but she shouldn’t even be an option... “Not yet. I’ll be sure to update my cock’s activity with you later, though.” I ended the call and turned off my phone. When I stopped at the next red light, I opened my glove box and put it away, pulling out two other ones that were marked ‘other work’ and ‘non-personal.’
I turned on the ‘non-personal’ one and waited for the notifications to load. There were text messages from women I’d long stopped talking to and my former therapist who I avoided at all costs. I muted all those threads and clicked on Tinder.
Opening the app, I clicked on the premium tab, wanting to see if the only woman I’d swiped right on several times had finally liked me back. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d flagged me for fucking fraud and tagged me to a comment where she was talking about me in the community forum.
Seriously? Can someone else flag this asshole, so we can prevent him from getting some other woman’s hopes up? He keeps swiping right on me, popping up on my feed and I know he’s not real.
I smiled and pulled up her pictures again. She was hands-down, the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. Dark brown curls framed her faintly freckled cheeks, her bow shaped lips were coated in a devilish shade of red in every photo, and her deep almond eyes were beyond alluring.
She was the only woman who I’d been this attracted to at first sight, the only woman who could arouse me within a matter of seconds from a mere picture.
Since she wanted to play games, I decided to return the favor. I clicked on the dots beside her name and flagged her account for fraud.
Within seconds, she swiped right on me and sent me a message.
GoodGirl1996: Look here, you fucking sock-puppet…I’m clearly not interested in you, and I know that’s hard to believe, but I prefer my men to be REAL, so do yourself a favor and find someone who’s willing to fall for your fake/stolen pics.
I smiled and wrote her back.
The Devil: What makes you think my pictures aren’t real?
GoodGirl1996: Because if you were, you wouldn’t need to use this app at all.
The Devil: In that case, I could say the same thing about you…
GoodGirl1996: So, you think flattering me is going to work? *eye roll emoji*
The Devil: If you’d like, I can come show you that I’m real right now.
GoodGirl1996: Oh, I’m sure. *double eye roll emoji* I have a date with a REAL guy later this afternoon at The Brunch 7. Feel free to stop by and show yourself to the both of us.
The Devil: I will. I’ll be there.
GoodGirl1996: You’ll be there as some trolling prepubescent teenager who has way too much time on his hands. The moment Tinder determines that your complaint is full of it, I’m willing to bet that everyone in the community will have your account banned for life.
The Devil: I wouldn’t waste my time on placing such a terrible bet with me if I were you. I’ve never lost at anything in my life…
She blocked me before I could say another word.
Meredith
Before
MissCherry718: Soooo, I haven’t seen this guy’s profile on the site here yet (must have the wrong qualifications checked), but DAYUUUMM! I’ll happily take one for all of womankind if he messages me. I’ll find out if he’s real or not for you. LOL
Escape9to5: Ugh. I don’t understand this girl’s complaint at all…Is she saying that hot guys are above using Tinder and “liking” her? Maybe she has some self-esteem issues. Can someone nominate her to be on Dr. Phil’s show or something?
Autumn42: I’m with you Escape9to5! Like, ‘Oh noooo…The horror of a sexy as fuck man swiping right on me several times!’ Maybe he’s really trying to get your attention? Maybe he’s THAT interested in you?
MissCherry718: I can’t determine if she’s trying to “humble brag” about how much this guy wants her, or if she’s really this delusional.
Escape 9to5: You guys, it’s neither. It’s just clear that she’s new to Tinder. That, and she needs to get fucked and get back in her right mind. Bahahaha!
* * *
I groaned as I read over the latest responses on my public post. Within a week, the entire community had turned against me, and I was on the verge of deleting the post, but the sting of the truth was holding me back.
“She needs to get fucked and get back in her right mind…”
I was hoping that tonight’s date with the latest guy I’d met on Tinder would have that exact ending. We’d been messaging for the past several days in a row—toeing the line between flirting and making it obvious that we both wanted to have sex. Granted, his dirty talk wasn’t the best I’d ever heard, but it was far from the worst.
“Once I finger bang your pussy, you’ll never want to be finger-banged by another man again…”
Opening my text messages, I opened the last one he’d sent.
Bennett (HG456): Can’t wait to see you tonight at The Brunch 7, sexy girl.
“Miss Thatchwood…” My boss cleared her throat, launching me back into reality where I was supposed to be working. “Has Ralph Lauren returned my messages about those grey suits? What about Jason Wu?”
“Mr. Lauren is currently sitting in your office,” I said. “I talked him into stopping by for a late lunch once I saw that he was in town via Instagram.” I picked up a red binder and held it out for her. “Jason Wu sent this over an hour ago. I wanted to go through all the things I knew you’d hate before handing it over.”
Her lips curved into a smile and she stared at me for several seconds. “I don’t normally say this, and I doubt I’ll ever say it again, but I’m very impressed with you, Miss Thatchwood. I honestly thought you wouldn’t last beyond a week, or that you would break down and return to your heiress-empire a lot sooner, but you might end up being one of the best assistants I’ve ever had.”
Might? “I think I already am…”
“No, not yet.” She shook her head. “Last another two years and I’ll make a decision on that.” She looked at her watch. “You can leave now. I don’t need you here any longer today.”
I shut my laptop before she could change her mind. I grabbed my oversized bag and rushed to the closest bathroom, where I traded my blue button-down shirt and khakis for a simple beige lace dress. I swapped my silver toned flats for nude colored stilettos, and coated my plain pink lips in my preferred shade of sinful red.
I walked in front of the floor-length mirror and made sure everything matched before hailing a cab to The Brunch 7.
By the time I made it through rush hour’s grueling gridlock traffic, I was three minutes late to meet Bennett. When I walked inside, I noticed he was sitting in a booth near the back.
Dressed in a light grey suit and bespoke tie, he looked exactly like the brown-eyed boyish accountant in his picture. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, though.
I didn’t feel any sparks or butterflies fluttering in my stomach. There was a small hint of attraction—the same feeling I’d felt this morning when the building’s postman dropped off our latest runway catalogues, but nothing more.