‘Gimme.’
‘No!’ I say again.
‘Am!’
‘It’s embarrassing!’ I double down.
‘Well, then, Ihaveto see.’ He’s teasing me. ‘An embarrassing profile won’t help you get dates and as your casual-dating guru, I—’
‘Don’t call yourself that.’
‘Fine, let’s start with mine.’ He holds his phone out towards me.
I take it from him cautiously as he nods in encouragement and watches as I start to scroll through the feed. It starts with a selfie, a photo of him dressed smartly at a restaurant, a group pic, then one of him with a dog.
‘Is that yours?’ I ask.
‘No, but it gets people asking.’ He admits this proudly. ‘He’s my friends’ dog. He’s a real girl-magnet.’
I go to chastise him, but he’s right – it’s what got me hooked.
‘Going around Europe for six months, come and join me,’I read out loud. ‘Cheesy.’
‘But true! I thought I’d cut to the chase. Would you swipe right?’ he asks.
‘I guess.’ I shrug.
He raises an eyebrow, so I decide to be honest.
‘Your profile’s nothing special, but looks-wise you’re pulling ahead.’
His smile grows wider, stretching from ear to ear. ‘Amorie, did you forget about rules one and seven?’
‘I’m not flirting; it’s a fact. You are an objectively attractive man.’
He smiles harder. I slap him on the arm, so he stops.
‘Your turn,’ he says, his palm outstretched.
I wince as I hand it over and reveal the four-year-old club photo. His eyes scan over the HD candid of me with a drink in hand and cleavage pushed up to my chin.
‘Strong starter. Doesn’t feel very you though.’
‘In what way?’ I ask.
‘You don’t strike me as a club girl.’
His eyes flick from my phone to settle on my face, dutifully awaiting an answer to his assumption.
‘Yeah, I’m more of a pub-and-bar girl... but I’ll do the occasional club. Plus, I like that photo.’ I shrug.
‘You should, it certainly makes a point.’ His eyes linger. ‘I just feel like it doesn’t capture your essence. Your first photo should do that.’
He scrolls through the rest of the feed with an intense concentration, chewing on his lip as he seems to search for something specific. He lands on the final photo – a photo Iforgot was even there, from a family barbecue – and cheers, flashing it back at me.
‘See, this one is you!’
I look at it closer, gritting my teeth. There I am, on a picnic blanket in jean shorts and a baggy T-shirt, clutching my knees and grinning at the camera widely. It’s the kind of grin you do as a kid that’s all teeth and absolutely no eyes, except I’m not a kid. It was taken last year, on a particularly sweaty summer day, and the sunlight has painted a shiny circle onto my forehead. My hair was also a fair bit shorter at the time, curls resting fresh and bouncy ever so slightly above my shoulders.
