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Decker blushes. “Do I have to?”
I shrug. “No—you don’t have to. But if you can’t show me your profile, how would you expect me play matchmaker and find you a girlfriend?”
“But you haven’t agreed to be my matchmaker. Ergo, showing you my dating profile puts me in a vulnerable position.”
Hmm. Guess he’s right about that, it kind of does put him in a vulnerable position? Still, I’m nothing if not curious, more so now that he’s admitting he does not know the most basic of online dating terms.
“Based on how pathetic it is, it could be a determining factor.”
He pulls a face. “I offered to pay you a shit ton of money and you didn’t bite. How is me showing you this profile more of a determining factor than cash?”
I rub my chin in thought. “Did you actually offer to pay me a shit ton of money? No. I only recall you saying you’d pay me—then adding a bit about Palmer saying I needed money.” I nod toward his phone, palm out, fingers wiggling. “Show me the profile and I’ll see how badly you need my help.”
He’s holding it in his hand, cradling it in a rather large palm.
Obviously I can’t help but notice.
I am female after all, and one who happens to notice details, regardless of whose body they’re attached to.
Le Sigh.
The first thing I do when Decker hands over his phone is read his BIO.
DECKER, 37
Work hard, play hard. Successful businessman looking for his partner-in-crime.
“My god you did not say partner in crime.” I groan. “So cliché.”
I read on as he sputters and tries to get his phone back.
I hold it out of his reach and side-eye him. “Do you seriously play hard? You just got done telling me you have no time to date.”
He shrugs. “It just felt like the appropriate thing to say, I can’t very well say I work long hours and have neglected my personal life.”
I mean.
He could.
I read on. “Looking for a long-term commitment. Not looking to play games. Love dogs and red wine. Quiet nights in and volunteering for at risk youth. Cooking in my gourmet kitchen.”
I snort. “Cooking in my gourmet kitchen? Do you even have groceries?”
Decker grapples for the phone again. “Must you read that out loud?”
I must. “Must love dogs.” I look at him. “Do you even have a dog?”
He shakes his head, face flushing. “No but someday I’d like one.”
Not the same thing but whatever.
“Okay well. if you don’t mind I’m going to sneak a gander at the conversations you’ve been having.”
He groans loudly, taking a healthy chug of his cocktail. A really, really healthy chug.
Decker, it seems, has matched with a decent number of women and has already started dialogues with most of them—most, but not all.
I scan the small, round thumbnail photographs and poke on a a blonde named Trishell, her face popping up larger at the top of the screen.
