Page 15 of 28 Dates
Overdramatic?
I still doubt it.
I’ve been one hundred percent regretting agreeing to test this stupid app since approximately four minutes after I met my first date. A quick little lunch date, which I figure is a good time. You can eat, chat, go back to your life.
How completely wrong I am at judging men I meet online.
I take a sip of a fruity red wine given to me courtesy of Teagan, Corbin’s new wife and my newest bestie, still shaking.
“Seriously, Caitlin. You’re freaking me out. At least tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
“No. Of course not. I would have gone to the cops.”
“Then tell me what happened. If he really is creepy, Trey should probably know and kick him off somehow.”
I haven’t even thought of that. I’ll let Trey know about this when I’m calm enough. He should at least know there are men like this on the app. Surely he has some sort of protection or security in place to deal with freaky stuff, like the ability to suspend their accounts or remove them completely from the platform.
I hold up one finger. “First, he lives with his mom.”
Across from me, the cute little blonde nods, arching her brows. “Uh-huh.”
“Which isn’t horrible despite him claiming to be twenty-six. But two, his banking experience consists ofhavingbank accounts.”
A strange sound escapes her pursed lips. “Okay.”
And none of these are automatic no’s from me, especially since I’ve decided to use these dates to find not necessarily a long-term relationship, but more along the lines of someone whose company I enjoy as much as Jonas’s—mostly in bed. Financial status isn’t really my main goal despite Trey’s purpose for the app.
“However,” I said. “Hold on.” I drink more of my wine and refill the half-full glass. It’s my second in an hour, and I need food in me, considering I fled the restaurant before we even ordered. “I mean, he told me those things before we ordered, Teagan. And then…” Oh God.
“What?” She’s trying not to laugh. Her pretty blue eyes are sparkling, and yeah, my friend thinks I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy enough to spend time with someone on the express train to the loony bin. Crazy and wacko shall never meet.
“He leaned across the table, took my hand, and it was gross because his were all sweaty, and then he whispered I’m beautiful.”
“Aww. That’s sweet.”
“And said he was thinking about how my toes tasted.”
“What?” Had she been drinking, her wine would be in my lap. “Ew.” Her face scrunches, and gone is the hilarity in her blue eyes. “Disgusting!”
“And when I tried to pull my hand back and calmly say this wouldn’t work out, he held it harder and asked me if he could taste them…in the bathroom!”
Oh God. Just the memory. Who does this? Who propositions to lick a woman’s toes in a public restroom? As if the restroom is the main problem. Have your kink and enjoy it. Toes aren’t my thing. They’re sweaty and stinky and ticklish and icky. I’m panicking again, blood and gross fear and adrenaline rushing through me. If this is what this app could bring me over the next month, I am O-U-T, out.
“That’s the kind of thing you throw in after you’ve already had sex a few times, right? Or you slide it in there when you already have the girl in the mood. But this guy…it was freaky as hell, Teagan.”
She alternates between making a gagging sound and laughing, which comes out sounding like she’s trying not to puke.
I completely understand. Been there, girlfriend. I’ve resisted the urge at least a dozen times.
“I got out of there, Teagan. I mean, I just ran, terrified he was following me, and I live so close to where we were eating I didn’t want to risk going home.” Okay. So maybe I’m being abitoverdramatic. “But for real…that guy is off his rocker.”
Her lips press down, and she’s fighting a laugh. Okay. Overdramatic it is. Still. Creepy fucker. “I can see why that’d send you running to us, hours away, and avoiding Trey’s texts. Totally makes sense now.”
“Toe licking in a public bathroom, Teagan. And I’ve been wearing boots with wool socks all day.” My voice is low and serious.
She makes that gagging sound again. “Say no more. Please, for the love of God, let’s never talk about this again.”
I take another drink of wine and push off the barstool. I’ve been coming to Corbin’s coastal house since I was nineteen years old. It’s been in his family for generations, and when his grandma passed away, she left it for him in her will. It’s more of a home than the house I grew up in, and I have no qualms about helping myself to food in the fridge or snacks in the pantry.
