I thought I’d rather drive steak knives through my eye sockets than peruse the slim pickings of my dating apps with Miller. “Can we do this another time?” Like April 32nd?
“Gimme your phone or I tell your grandma you’re dating potential serial killers.”
Men were so annoying. Why did we even put up with them? “I don’t like these apps. What’s wrong with meeting someone the old-fashioned way?”
“In the business world, you have to keep an open mind, take a chance, and do things differently than you’ve done before if you want different results.”
Great. Zig Ziglar was my dating coach. “Fine.” I opened an app Olivia recommended called 100 Miles. It was where I’d connected with Lincoln, so I didn’t know if it matched me to singles within a hundred miles of my location or if that was how far I’d want to run after meeting another one of my matches.
“What about this guy?” Miller asked after a few painful minutes passed.
I waved away a mosquito and leaned closer to see. “Not interested.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” I studied the picture of a decent-looking man standing on an oceanfront balcony before scrolling through his profile. “I don’t feel anything when I look at his photos or read his bio.”
“Are you expecting his energy to reach through the internet?”
“Some of us are intuitive, Mr. CEO.”
“Since when?” Miller pulled up another contender. “What about this guy? This one you’ve favorited?”
“What about him?”
“He has a pink mohawk, and it says he’s traveling the country in his camper.”
“I think he sounds very adventurous.”
“He seemsunemployed. Plus, his name is Zeus Dreamweaver. You know his mother didn’t give him that name. Can you trust an adult who has to rebrand himself?”
I tried to grab my phone from Miller’s judgy grip. “This is so helpful. I’ve seen the light. Thank you. Goodnight.”
While the moon and pool lights shaded Miller’s profile to the annoying point of perfection, he swiped left a few times. “What’s wrong with this guy? Phillip.”
I leaned closer to get a better look, trying not to sniff Miller any more than I already had. “His bio is boring.”
“And by boring, you mean stable? He’s an accountant, goes to church, mentors at-risk youth, and visits the mountains yearly.”
“Yeah. He sounds…nice.”
“Send him a message.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no spark.” I closed my eyes and imagined this man, reviewing his profile details. “Nope. I feel nothing. Nada.”
“Your sisters should’ve warned me you pick your men with a divining wand and an internal Magic 8 Ball.”
“I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Your criteria for an acceptable guy is what’s bad.”
I tucked a leg beneath me and angled myself toward my interrogator. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
