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“I need these glasses to see! And I’m NOT a virgin!” I complain again as I push my glasses up my nose and back into place. They both ignore me and continue talking about me like I’m not here.
“That would be really hot, now that you mention it. The virgin librarian goes wild. Customers at Charming’s would eat that shit up,” Ariel says, smiling and nodding. She pulls the laptop closer to her and clacks away on the keys. “But you’re right. The first thing we need to do is get her more experience dealing with the opposite sex, and fix the virgin thing.”
“Oh, my God, for the last time, I AM NOT A VIRGIN!” I shout, smacking my hands down on the table.
“She’s so cute and feisty when she’s in denial,” Ariel chuckles.
“Just so you know, I’ve already started getting experience with the opposite sex. Beast came into the library last night and I walked right up to him and talked to him,” I inform them.
“Did you fidget and ramble useless facts?” Ariel asks.
“Shut up. It was only one useless fact,” I mutter in exasperation.
“Beast doesn’t count. He has the manners of a caveman and you should stay away from him. He’s definitely not your type, nor the type of guy you would get any kind of experience with. You need to learn the ways of a normal man and the way a normal man thinks so you can anticipate what will turn them on while you’re dancing. Not a man who will do nothing but grunt and glare at you every time you talk,” Ariel says with a roll of her eyes as she continues clicking away on the computer.
Even though Beast is a tad overbearing, I’m insulted on his behalf. She doesn’t know him. I don’t even know him. And her words just make me want to defy her and get to know him to prove there’s a normal man under that tough exterior. I’m probably influenced by the fact that for the first time in my life, an extremely good-looking man doesn’t look bored when I ramble his ear off, which is filling my heart with silly notions and fantasies, but I don’t care.
Cindy gets up from her seat and moves around the table to stand behind Ariel and look over her shoulder at whatever she’s doing on the computer.
“Oh, oh yeah. That’s genius! I can’t believe we didn’t think of that sooner!” Cindy says excitedly.
“What are you two doing?”
I lean closer to Ariel and try to see the screen of the laptop, but she quickly turns it away from me, hitting a few more keys as she and Cindy talk quietly, saying something about a profile picture and hobbies.
“Aaaaaand, done! Check your email. And you’re welcome,” Ariel suddenly announces.
My cell phone chimes with an incoming email when she slams the laptop closed. With a sigh, I click on the email pop-up notification.
“What the heck is Match Made in Heaven?”
Chapter 4: Creepy Stalker
My phone vibrates with a new email notification, and I silently curse Ariel and Cindy as I grab the damn thing from the top of the reference desk. In the twenty-four hours since they signed me up for that stupid dating website, I’ve received at least a hundred emails, each one more horrifying than the last.
“I be liking you smiles. We should be having the sexes,” I whisper to myself, reading the newest email from a dating prospect. I’m half-tempted to shoot this man an email scolding him for his audacity and poor use of the English language.
Match Made in Heaven states on their home page that they guarantee you’ll find the love of your life or they’ll refund your money. Is this seriously how people find their one true love? That’s not how it works in books. Those women find their soulmates in adorable ways, like being friends with them half their lives and suddenly realizing they’ve always been in love, or literally running into them in the grocery store, dropping their armfuls of purchases, laughing and flirting as they pick everything up.
And do men honestly think messages like this actually work? I get it. I’ve done my research since these emails started flying in. Studies show that 50 percent of people on these sites are only using it for cheap, meaningless sex. But that means the other 50 percent who are looking for love are out there somewhere and are most certainly not messaging me, which is just downright depressing. Yes, I need more experience with men. But no, I wasn’t lying when I told Ariel and Cindy that I’m not a virgin. They just don’t need to know the specifics: It was one, messy, painful, embarrassing time on prom night that I never had the desire to repeat until recently. I don’t want cheap, meaningless sex. I’m a romantic. I want to be wooed like the heroines I’ve been reading about for years. I want a man who will sweep me off my feet with an over-the-top romantic gesture. I want sweet, flowery words, filled with emotion and meaning.
