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Me:You would have mentioned if Elliot was playing tonight, wouldn’t you?
The dots began to dance . . .
Madeline:I didn’t know he was. Next Friday he is. Milo and I have a date night - can you watch Holly?
Me:Yes I can - but no, he’s definitely here tonight.
I turned back to the stage and raised my phone, snapping a photo. It was a good shot, Elliot was turned to look to his left, the smile wide as he sang. He was definitely in his element. I sent the photo off to Madeline.
Me:See . . .
Madeline:Well apparently Milo knew. He said Elliot mentioned something about adding a night to their set. Want us to come down?
Me:No! I’m meeting a date and don't need the perfect married couple to make me nervous.
Madeline:Oooo a date! Fill me in tomorrow? Book signing?
Me:You bet.
I scrolled back up to the photo of Elliot and gave a small smirk at it. I would delete it later, maybe go up and show him after the show. It was a good picture of him, honestly. I could send it to him and maybe they could post it on their social media accounts.
The clock in the corner told me I had been waiting for twenty minutes, and still no sign of Rick. I opened Tinder and looked for his message thread. He hadn’t mentioned being late or anything, and after three songs I knew I was being stood up.
I twisted in my chair and brought the salted rim to my lips.
Since I’m here . . . I might as well watch the show.
I watched Elliot as he moved with the music, playing something other than country—his voice filling the room just like I remember from the wedding. A voice I wouldn’t mind hearing on the radio from time to time—flawless and smooth. He turned his body towards the bar and in a flash our eyes met.
I pursed my lips to avoid smiling. But that didn’t stophimfrom smiling. He gave me a grin before winking and pulling himself back to the crowd—never missing a beat.
“Jamie?” I heard a deep voice come from behind me while, at the same time, a thick, hairy arm fell on the bar top next to me. I turned to look at the arm, recognizing the tattoo from the profile picture, but as my eyes trailed up the arm and to the man I was assuming was Rick.
I wanted to burst out in laughter.
The man behind me wasnotthe man from Tinder. Well he was, technically, but at the same time, he wasn’t. He was heavier, with a full beard, and his breath smelled like gum disease. The tattoo though was the exact same as Tinder.
I had been catfished.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, “you must have me mistaken with someone else.”
“Jamie Gaines right, from Tinder? I’m Rick. I know I look a little different but—”
“I’m sorry, sir.” I lied through my teeth. “I’m meeting someone here, so if you don’t mind . . .”
“Right, you’re meeting me.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don't even have Tinder.”
I glanced down at my phone, making sure the screen was black.Thank the LORD I locked my phone.
“Jamie Gaines, right?”
“Sir . . .”
How many times could I say, “sir” before he got the picture?
Rick took the seat next to me and I watched his shirt ride up his middle a little bit, the hem falling from his pants where it was tucked in.
