Holly North, I type. My lips curl into a smile at the perfect little Christmas persona I’ve just created in ten letters.
Before I let fear freeze me, I hitsubmit, and the screen changes to the main dashboard of my app, showing me four very attractive men it thinks I’d match with.
Instead of perusing, I lock my home screen and toss my phone onto the carpet below the tub.
There. I did it.
But what exactly did I do?
Chapter Two
Bright sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains I thought would be cute, but instead are proving to be the worst idea ever, waking me from a restless sleep.
I tossed and turned all night, and if this headache is any indication, then today’s going to suck.
On the pillow next to me, Potato purrs, still sound asleep and looking as comfy as can be. Bouncing my hand against the bed, I feel for where I put my phone until I find it, and bring it to eye level. Twelve notifications wait for me from the SparksFly app, and I groan, remembering what I did last night.
Damn the effects of hot water and wine, making me do stupid things because bath time Zee thinks her ideas are so great, thenfutureZee has to clean up the messes later.
Coffee.
I desperately need a cup of coffee before I see what’s happening on the app. There’s a lump in my throat as I crawl out of bed and shove my feet inside of my platform Ugg slippers.
Padding into the kitchen, I turn on the single-cup coffee maker. It grumbles and groans as the water heats up, and I busy myself grabbing a mug, and peppermint mocha creamer.
The urge to read the notifications becomes too much to wait for the coffee maker to finish, and I unlock my phone. The app immediately pops up and brings me to my dashboard. Five matches and six messages await me. I start with the matches first.
Thomas, twenty-eight, San Diego. Padres fan, season ticket holder. Has a golden retriever named Tobias and loves to spend his weekends exploring hiking trails around the city. He’s cute. The golden retriever seems accurate—he looks like he’d own one.
Next up is Rhett, twenty-four, La Jolla. He’s an aspiring musician, loves late nights listening to the waves at the beach, and has plans to move to LA in the spring.
He lives in La Jolla, which tells me everything I need to know—he still lives with his parents.
Cole seems promising, though, with his bright hazel eyes and lopsided smile. He’s thirty, says he loves to read, and works for the state of California.
Oh…wait, no. He lives in Santee. Pass.
The last guy I’ve matched with, I barely glance at before I toggle over to the messages. Before I tackle those, though, I pour my coffee and gently stir in my creamer before I head to the couch. My buffalo plaid blanket awaits, and as I kick off my slippers and curl into my favorite corner, I turn on a Christmas movie for some background noise.
Pulling my attention back to my phone, I start with the first message that was sent.
Message received
Subject: Too forward?
You’re absolutely gorgeous, Holly. I’d love to bring you to my office Christmas party on the thirteenth. The company rented out a backroom at a restaurant in the Gaslamp district. Let me know if you’re available, and I’d be happy to send you some money to shop for an outfit and provide more details.
XX,
Ethan Hanson
___
Clicking on Ethan's profile, a smile forms when I see he’s not a complete troll. He’s my age, twenty-eight, and a software engineer.
Why’s he single?
Probably the same reason I am. People suck.
