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Satisfied with my answer, Holden lifted both drinks off the table, taking a sip from one and then the other.
“What do you have there?” I asked. “Two different kinds of coffee?”
“Coffee in this one”—he held up his right hand—“and water over here”—he held up his left hand. “You see, I’ve got to chase the caffeine with something neutral or I’ll be climbing the walls soon.”
It wasn’t even ten in the morning. One was already drinking beer, and the other had enough energy to run the Boston Marathon.
And we all had class in an hour.
Holden placed one of the mugs down and rubbed his dark-blue eyes. “What made you think there was a glitch?”
I took a seat on the chair next to the couch. “I matched with someone at a hundred percent.”
Grayson reached into the six-pack sitting on the floor and took out a full beer. “Impossible.” He twisted off the cap and tossed it toward the kitchen, missing by several feet. “I don’t believe you.”
I held the phone out so both could see the screen.
“I still don’t believe it.” Grayson used his free hand to type, pecking the keys much harder than he needed to. “I’m reaching out to David and Brennon to make sure something else isn’t going wrong, or maybe there’s some weird shit with your account.”
David and Brennon were our coders and good friends who were finishing up their master’s degrees at MIT and had developed our entire app. It was amazing what an unlimited supply of weed and beer had bought us, an arrangement we wouldn’t have gotten from anyone but them.
“Well, I believe it,” Holden said as he crossed his legs over the coffee table. “Think of how perfect you and this girl will be if you’re already this compatible.”
“He’s not looking for perfect, he’s just looking to get his dick wet,” Grayson replied.
Holden wiped off the creamer that had stuck to his golden-brown mustache. “Regardless, it’ll still be pretty wild if you’re hooking up with someone you have that much in common with.”
“Shit.” Grayson slowly looked up from his laptop. “David said nothing is wrong. You really are the fucking unicorn of this app, my friend.”
“I can’t believe it.” I shook my head. “We know the chances of this happening. How did it happen to me?”
Grayson turned his tall frame, positioning himself into the corner of the couch, and crossed his long legs. “I’m just glad it didn’t happen to me. I have zero interest in anything perfect, permanent, or pouty—all potential possibilities when you match at one hundred percent.”
Grayson, the forever antiromance spokesman, would rather be castrated than settle down.
Holden laughed. “Well, I think it’s phenomenal”—he winked at our grumpy friend—“and maybe this was the whole reason why you came up with the concept of Hooked: fate matched you with the One.”
Even though I didn’t agree, Holden had an interesting take on it, which didn’t surprise me given that he was the romantic of our trio.
Hooked, initially, was my idea. I’d been the one to lead the bitching session.
But this couldn’t be why.
I was sure of that.
Grayson rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing we have Mr.Romance over here, creating happily ever afters for us.”
“What’s her username?” Holden asked me, ignoring Grayson. “You know, so I know what to call your future wife.”
I waved away that thought, but still replied, “SaarasLove.”
Grayson snorted. “She better not turn into your wife. I need a sidekick while I continue sleeping my way through this city, and we know this dude”—he pointed his thumb at Holden—“is getting hitched the first opportunity he gets.”
“Have you matched yet?” I asked Grayson.
“Eighty-one percent,” he replied.
“Who would have thought there were women in Boston who would have anything in common with you,” Holden said to him.
