***
I read over the message Jillian sent again, trying to figure out how to reply, because after the past couple days, she’s become more real to me.
GoodTimesOnly: You have a *baseball emoji* game tomorrow night and ur not soliciting. What gives?
GoodTimesOnly: OMG, please tell me you’re not being a bitch *baby emoji* about a thirty-minute date that you were basically on and actually saw me leave, alone.
What does one say to that? Yes, Jillian, it did actually piss me off. Or, Actually, Jillian, I orchestrated us showing up at O’Donnell’s because after your call with your old man, it became a safety concern, and I shared your location with me and defend that with the fact that now that Roman knows, I don’t feel like it’s my responsibility, so I will again be stealing your phone to remove myself from your find a friend app, so I do not show up on every date you will inevitably be going on in the future … until I can convince myself it’s not your tits that bring me luck, of course.
SportsManSam: Truth, I’m not interested in any game aside from baseball, which I take very seriously. The thought of being with someone who another guy thinks he has a shot with, not my thing.
SportsManSam: Even if that guy is a fucking tool.
GoodTimesOnly: *crying baby emoji*
Jesus, good luck to the man who falls for her and tries to be “vulnerable.” I called bullshit that women actually want that long ago, and now I have proof.
GoodTimesOnly: *screen shot*
The photos are of a text message between them, with him asking if she’s okay, and her thanking him for his concern. Then him asking her out again and her telling him …
GoodTimesOnly: *screen shot*
Another picture comes through with her reply.
I realized that you and I are looking for two completely different things. You want love; me a good time when I can squeeze it in. Best of luck, truly.
