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I’m so confused that for two whole seconds I just stare at the message.
I created the app, but I don’tuseit. There’s no need when it’s already been trialed and tested. Everything I would need to access information on it would be on my work computer.
Hey there, I saw your profile and thought we would be a great fit ;*
I barely have to scroll down before the thread fills with a woman’s round ass spread down the center with a lime green thong.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
I swipe out of the inbox and furiously pan through the familiar gradient of dark purple, blue, and pink that makes up OneDate’s homepage. In the center is a feed where couples can post about the venues they’ve visited on their first date, and what their experiences were at each place.
In the bottom left corner resides a picture of my face. I know if I click it, it’ll take me to a profile I obviously didn’t make.
Have I been hacked?
I press the small icon, and there it is, plain as day—my OneDate profile.
As I skim over a short bio beneath a picture of me in the suit I wore at my grandad’s funeral, I grind my molars.
Damon Carlisle
I’m an IT Guru who went to an expensive college that you for sure can’t afford. I love to travel but hate flying because I’m afraid of heights. I’m pretty good looking, so there’s that. Huge baseball fan. I like to fish. DMs open.
“Thismade a woman send me a picture of her ass?” I blink at the screen, flipping through more images of myself that I didn’t choose. “Unbelievable.”
When I get to the fourth photo, it’s one of me and Brandi from her and Chuck’s wedding. The caption under it reads:Here’s a picture of my bestie. You’re welcome.
“Oh, you little shit.”
I should have known Brandi had something to do with this. She probably swiped my phone at the bar while I was having one last drink with the guys.
I close out of the app after firing off a text informing her that she’s dead to me.
Slamming my phone down on the side table, I wrap myself in the covers, and roll toward the opposite wall, releasing an irritated sigh.
Within minutes, I’m flopping back over and throwing an arm across my eyes. Behind my lids, a cute brunette with a tempting figure sits at a tiki bar.
Katie. Katelynn. Kate.
My eyes pop open when I remember she has OneDate on her phone.
“You will not go hunting her down on that app,” I warn my wandering mind.
But my hand’s already gripping the device, unlocking it in a second flat, and scouring the damn thing for her profile.
I tell myself it’s just curiosity. There’s nothing wrong with stalking people on the internet, so long as they don’t know. But it doesn’t take long to realize she must not have her profile set to searchable. Therefore, finding her is going to be fucking impossible.
Could I take out my laptop, open the app’s database, and search it for every Kate Harris that’s ever registered?
Sure.
Will I…?
“No.”
Yeah, that’s a hard no.
With another sigh, I select my profile settings.
Vedant wants me to have a date for our dinner with Patrick, and since Brandi’s already done the hard work for me, I may as well indulge in a little island dating.
When in Rome.
I press the edit button and edit my ridiculous bio. Then I turn on my location settings so the app will recognize the surrounding area and place my phone on the charger before drifting off to sleep.
