So here I lay, sprawled on the couch, swiping away my misery on the latest dating app in search of someone who isn’t a dipshit. I hear his keys in the door, and when he steps inside, I offer a polite hello, but don’t bother looking up from my phone.
The girls and I have concluded that I fell victim to his hypnosis.
If I don’t look him directly in the eye, he’ll eventually lose power over me.
Elliott nods, then heads into the bathroom, coming out ten minutes later smelling like soap and fresh laundry. Meanwhile, I still haven’t budged.
He putters around the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge before meandering over to the living room with a bottle of water in hand. “Why are you panned out on the couch, staring at your phone like it holds the secrets to the universe?”
If only that were true. “I’m reminding myself there are other fish in the proverbial sea.” After my chat with the girls tonight,it’s clear I’ve been trying to squeeze my heroic roommate into a category where he most certainly does not fit.
It’s time to get out of my own way and find someone who’s actually interested in me.
Elliott catches me by the ankles, lifting my legs so he can plop down on the cushion. I probably should’ve forced myself to move. This is his couch, after all. But I’m wallowing.
It’s not that I miss Josh. I miss the idea of Josh and mourn the loss of the beautiful life we could’ve built together.
Elliott settles my legs over his thighs and leans in close enough that the soap he used distracts me. Whatisthat? It’s plain and clean and I kinda want to lick his neck to see how it tastes. But I’ve tasted soap before—the one time I cursed in front of my mother—and it was terrible. So I imagine the taste won’t live up to the smell.
“By trolling dating apps?” he scoffs.
That’s right. Loren Piper is officially online. I don’t even waste money on the subscriptions. I just lay here swiping and hope someone finds me.
“Let me see that.” He snags my phone before I can stop him. “Seriously? This guy looks like a twat.”
What is he, British now? “No, he doesn’t. He looks nice.” And he even has a puppy. Animal lovers make great boyfriends—or so I’ve read. Josh didn’t have any pets.
Then again, neither does Elliott.
Elliott throws an arm over the back of the couch. “That’s what I said: twat.”
“Give me back my phone. Don’t?—”
It’s too late. Elliot has already swiped the wrong way, eliminating my chances of ever finding love with William, 27, from Franklin.
Elliott snorts. “Oh yeah. Definitely a tool bag.”Swipe. “Come on.” He flashes me a photo of a guy in a black beanie with hisnose and lip pierced. I’ve gotta admit, he’s pretty hot in a dirty sort of way. Not dirty like he doesn’t shower, but like he has a thing for having sex in public.
I’ve never had sex in public or kissed a guy with a lip ring. Could kill two birds with one?—
“Toolbox,” Elliot mutters, swiping to the next contender.
Okay. Guess that’s a “no” on Mr. Lip Ring. “What’s the difference between a tool bag and a toolbox?”
“You don’t want to know. Oh, this guy. He looks okay.”
“Really? Let me see.” I sidle up closer, peering over his shoulder at my own screen. The man has pretty blue eyes and a nice smile. Although I would think the strip club in the background would be a red flag. Interesting that Elliott approves of him. It’s hard to judge someone based on a photo. Maybe he doesn’t realize it’s a strip club. Or maybe they know each other.
“Just kidding. He’s a ghoster for sure.” Off he goes, swiping to the next man.
“Really funny.” As entertaining as this game is, he obviously doesn’t realize the point is to make a match and meet people. “Give me my phone.”
Does he listen? No. Instead, he angles the screen toward me. “This guy definitely wants in your pants.”
Swipe. Swipe.Swipe.
“If you keep going at this pace, there’s going to be no one left!” I grab for my phone again, but he decides to be an ass and hold it above his head. I twist around, kneeling on the cushion next to him, flailing for my damn phone.
Elliott goes still.
