Time to rein in his excitement.
Raider retrieves his beer for a long drag. There’s no way this Rune is completely perfect. With looks like this, there must be another reason Rune is single.
Ready for the red flags, Raider scrolls to the profile information. Rune left most of the fields—age, location, profession—blank too, all his details in the samewantanddon’t wantfields.
Wants:Someone with a sense of humor, easy to talk to. I’m alone a lot, and having someone to chat with would be nice. I like learning about people, and I’d love to hear about your job and your weather and your regular day. As for anything romantic, I don’t know. I would want someone very patient. I’ve never done anything like this before. I hope I’m not asking for too much.
Don’t want:Meeting in person.
Okay, starting with how alone Rune is counts as a yellow flag, minimum. But there’s a sense of naïve honesty to the description. Raider definitely believes Rune has never used a dating app before, because there’s nothing about hiking or dogs or craft beer.
Still, Raider can handle yellow flags. The main disappointment is not wanting to meet in person. Even though Raider said he was okay with just friends—Cupid wasn’t supposed to believe that.
But Raider puts that aside when the inbox blinks. Clicking in, he finds a pile of unread messages. The first came hours ago, right after the contractor arrived.
Rune:Cupid says we’re matches, and that I should say hello. Hello!
The second arrived half an hour later.
Rune:You must be busy. Your information says you’re starting a business. That sounds really cool!
Rune:I don’t know if I’m actually a good match for you. I don’t remember ever doing anything interesting. So, I understand if you don’t want to talk with me. I’m probably pretty boring.
Rune:I’ve just looked that up, and self-deprecation is not recommended for dating conversations. I’m sorry.
Rune:I am boring, but I don’t mean that as self-deprecation. That’s just how it is, and it doesn’t bother me. I hope it doesn’t bother you.
Rune:I’ve sent you too many messages. I’m sorry. I’ll delete some of them.
There’s another hour-long gap.
Rune:I don’t know how to delete them.
Rune:I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do any of this. I don’t know why I thought it would work. I’m probably not what you want. I don’t even think I have a great ass. I hope you’re having a great day, and that your business is going really well.
Raider can’t help it. The corner of his mouth lifts. Adorable, nervous, earnest. This guy is absolutely not what Val wanted him to go for—but Raider can’t help it. He loves a project.
So, Raider takes another swig of beer and taps a reply.
3
Rune paces the confines of his prison. It’s been hours since he matched, and Raider still hasn’t responded.
There are plenty of possible reasons for the silence. Raider is busy. He’s sleeping. But Rune’s head keeps turning over other possibilities, each just as likely. Maybe Raider took one look at Rune’s profile and wasn’t interested. Maybe Raider doesn’t want a man he can’t meet in person.
Worst of all—Rune keeps coming back to this, then shying away—
Maybe Raider doesn’t actually exist. Even if Rune could acquire a phone, what makes him think it’s connected to a real person? None of Rune’s appliances work how they should according to his books and television. There’s no electricity here. Maybe the phone is just a toy.
And stupid, gullible Rune is working himself into a dither over a hallucination.
The loss shouldn’t be so disappointing. When Rune woke up, he wasn’t thinking about being able to talk to someone. But now that possibility has been dangled in front of him, his eyes sting. His stomach turns nauseous at the thought of it being taken away.
With one arm wrapped around his stomach, Rune retrieves the phone from the kitchen table. Like picking at a scab, he scrolls through Raider’s profile again.
Raider’s photo fascinates Rune. Pale, sun-warmed skin speaks of a life outdoors. Dark brown hair, bright golden eyes, and tattoos. A black-ink snake winds around Raider’s left arm, and a flowering vine twists around the right. The tattoos are clear because in the photo, Raider is wearing a lime green, loose tank top. A bottle in his hand, he leans against a railing. Cloud-studded blue sky sweeps behind him.
Before Rune flips to the other photos, the inbox icon blinks. Drawn to the attractive flash of color, Rune clicks it before realizing what it means. Below Rune’s awkward rambling sits a reply from Raider.
