“No way,” he says with a chuckle.
“Doreen has a colorful love life. A different man for each day of the week. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I add quickly.Kettle, meet imaginary pot,I guess.
“Hm.” His expression turns thoughtful. “That explains the sour grapes from her friend with the green cardigan yesterday.” I pull a quizzical face, not sure what he’s talking about. “Frank must be quite the boy because green cardi wasn’t impressed that Doreen had gotten her claws into him first.”
“It’s like a soap opera for senior citizens,” I say, propping my chin to my fist.
“Maybe Doreen can lend the other woman her dildol.” He pulls a ridiculously funny face, and I giggle against my better instincts.
“It makes me wonder where Doreen gets the energy from.”
“I thought for a minute you were taking a leaf out of her book. All those dates you’re planning on going on.”
“I didn’t say—”
“London might be a small city, but it’s jam-packed with things to see,” he adds, about as unconcerned as he could be about my so-called dating life. I shouldn’t feel disappointed about his response, yet I do. But feelings don’t have to make sense, and the whole point of this dating misdirection is to protect him. Well, him and me. We’re just two people who have casual sex. And work together. Two people who have casual sex who have a history. I’m probably overthinking things. It’s not like Whit is complaining. I bet he’s had a dozen arrangements like this. So maybe who I’m trying to protect is not him but me.
His hand appears in front of me, and I realize he’s passing over my phone.
“It’s fully charged. I see you decided.”
“Decided—” My attention dips, and I see I have a notification from the dating app I’d downloaded this morning. “Oh.”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” he says without an ounce of disapproval in his tone. My insides flutter as, instead of moving back, he negligently leans against the end of the island.
“I only just signed up this morning.” My gaze dips, and I find myself stumbling over my explanation.
“What photographs did you use? Hinge has three, right?”
“Just ones from home.” This is disturbing, not to mention uncomfortable. “You’ve used the platform before?
“Let’s see them,” he says, ignoring my question.
What the heck? I shake my head as I absently input my security code. And get it wrong twice.
“You’re all fingers and thumbs this morning.” Now he’s just trying to make me feel worse. The third time’s a charm. I flick open the notification.
“I got a rose?” My voice sounds uncertain, my brow scrunching in a frown. As part of the account process, I had to upload three images of me and pick three prompts to answer. The photographs I loaded weren’t great, and I put the least effort into answering the prompts. Who the hell is trawling for dates on Sunday morning?
“That means someone really likes you.”
“That’s not true.” I glance up into his amused expression. “It’s not—you can’t get to know someone over that tiny amount of information.”
“I’ve known less about women I’ve fucked,” he murmurs so quietly. It still stings. “Let’s see which prompts you chose.” He reaches for my phone.
“No!” I press it to my chest in two-handed protection.
“Why not?” His eyes tighten at the corners.
“Because it’s none of your business. And, by the way, I see you’re already familiar with the interface.” This comes out way more snipe-y than I anticipated, but there’s no denying how I feel, which is annoyed at his blasé attitude. I’m also oddly irritated by the fact he’s been on Hinge.
Hypocritical? Absolutely. But I didn’t say it made sense.
“Come on, Mimi. I’ll show you my prompts, if you like?”
“You’re still on there?” Oh my. That was a little shrill.
“Nope,” he says so, so amused. “Not for ages, but it’s easy enough to reinstall the app.”
