“Nope.” I hold up the glass as if to toast and drain it.
The conversation pauses while we place our dinner orders. I decline the refill on my cocktail, even though I know I’d like another. I need to pace myself. I’ve probably said enough already.
“You go ahead,” I say when she glances at me before ordering a second. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” she cocks her head.
“Stellar,” I say. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“Okay then, why don’t you tell me about it?” Isla lowers her chin. Her blue eyes are wide and dark in the candlelight. All pupils.
I want to bite her neck and slam her up against the wall. I want to claim her with a hickey with twice the landmass of the one on Kenna, the barista back at that diner. I cannot say any of that out loud. It’s bad enough that I thought it. I wash the dirty thoughts down with some clean, cold soda water and a squeeze of lime.
Data. Think about numbers, Jackson.
“So I’m pretty sure that Rob – the show, whoever – is not actually interested in using the data from AI Swiper,” I say. “And that presents a problem for both of us.”
“What do you mean?” she furrows her brow.
“They were supposed to start with the matches, not let things devolve into some sort of free-for-all,” I explain. “It’s going to be twice as hard to get people together if they are distracted by budding relationships with the wrong people.”
“Maybe there are no wrong people,” Isla shrugs. “Maybe this is the way it needs to play out.”
“Are you kidding me?” I rattle the cubes in my glass. “This is more like a recipe for disaster. And I’m starting to get the feeling that Rob knows it.”
“Why would he do that?” Isla asks.
“Why?” I roll my eyes. “Who the hell knows? I don’t understand any of it. I don’t know why people make these stupid dating shows or why anyone even watches them.”
“Um? Maybe it is because love makes the world go round?” Isla shakes some salt on her hand and licks it off before doing the tequila shot that a server just dropped on the table. She sucks seductively on a slice of lime. I am mesmerized by her tongue. If I kissed her right now, would she taste like tequila?
Stop it, Jackson!
“I don’t know,” I shrug, sipping my sober soda. “I’ve never been in love. I’m not in the love business. I’m in the matchmaking business. My matches lead to long term partnerships.”
“What?” Isla sputters. “What does that even mean? What’s the point of matchmaking if love isn’t a part of it? Why not use one of those marriage brokers like in the dark ages?”
“I mean, that’s not a terrible idea,” I say. “But most brokers look at social and financial assets and liabilities. They don’t look at a couple’s core compatibility. And that’s what my algorithm is great at. I can predict which couples are most likely to remain long-term friends. That’s a better predictor of marital longevity than love.”
Of course the stats are still a little fuzzy on this, but my team is compiling enough data to make a compelling case for compatibility.
“That’s bollocks and you know it,” Isla rolls her eyes and me, calling me out. “And what about sex?” She leans forward, providing me with an enticing view of her cleavage. I swallow and force myself to look away, examining my cuticles instead.
“What about it?” I say. The wick on the candle separates, sending up a spark that becomes an ember floating between us. We lock eyes.
“I don’t want to have sex with my friends,” Isla says, still holding my gaze. Our knees are barely touching, brushing up against each other under the table. I want to scoot in and capture her legs between mine.
“Friends with benefits isn’t a terrible thing,” I posit.
“No thanks,” Isla leans back so the server can place her plate in front of her. The server looks confused, and she apologizes to her. “Sorry, that looks lovely. I wasn’t saying ‘no thanks’ to you!”
The server lays my dish in front of me next. “Bon appetit,” she says.
We both look at our plates. “That looks good,” I point at her perfectly seared scallops. Round and succulent.
“Your short ribs look delicious, too,” she eyes the succulent meat on my plate. “Now I have restaurant remorse. I should have ordered that.”
“Want to trade?” I ask.
