Chapter 8
Addiction is so easy to understand was my first thought upon waking. My hand was already reaching for my phone before my eyelids were fully opened. With a flick of my finger my PerfectDate.com account page appeared and the little red heart glowed, indicating messages in my chat threads. Yes! Now I just hoped that there was one from Matthew.
Lightly touching the heart, the next screen popped up. There were messages from three people. Someone named Hike4Food, Todd the car rapist, and Rob Lowe’s look-a-like, Matthew. Yes!
Brunch
Just one word. Not even a question mark. Was the man inviting me out? Hmmm, how to respond?
It’s one of my four favorite meals ? I smiled as I typed.
Taking my phone with me down the hall to the kitchen, I placed it on the granite countertop as I hit the coffeemaker’s on-switch and stood twirling the K-cup rack, feeling extreme ambivalence at my uninspired choices. I wanted a large Americano with an extra shot of espresso; taste the rich, full flavor seconds before it coursed through my veins, blasting me off like a capsule of focused energy.
As soon as it dinged, my hand was poised to grab the phone.
What do you like to eat?
I rolled my eyes at the early morning double-entendre. Dude, I need my caffeine first. For brunch?
Yes, for brunch.
The olives in a Bloody Mary. Oh, and the celery and shrimp, too.
I have the perfect place for us?
Bwahahaha, I’ll bet you do. Your bed?
If you insist.
Forget it, you haven’t fed me yet.
Well, I WAS trying to get you to brunch first at a place that has a build your own Bloody Mary bar.
Hmm, that does sound promising. Do they have shrimp? My mouth was watering as I imagined the peppery concoction.
As a matter of fact, they have JUMBO shrimp.
Jumbo shrimp sounds like an oxymoron to me. You online guys, hmmph, exaggerating the size of everything!
I just spit coffee on my keyboard, Carissa.
A man who spits. Hmmm, is it okay if I spit then? Where was this crazy, forward woman coming from? I was so bold and ballsy, hidden and untouchable behind the electronic wizard’s curtain. I was no less a sham than Oz’s wizard. I just had better equipment, a rose-gold MacBook and the latest iPhone.
I love your sense of humor.
Thanks.
So, come meet me. It’s still an acceptable brunch hour.
We just met last night. Too fast for me.
Brunch next weekend.
My immediate thought was that I had Scarlett home next weekend, How about this, I proposed, if we are still talking in two weeks, and feel so inclined, we can meet for brunch then.
Two weeks???? You know that’s forever in internet years. We could own a house together by then.
LOL and be broken up I added.
I have a feeling you are worth the wait.
Rob Lowe’s look-a-like had me smiling and sighing and by the time we wished one another a good day, I was telling myself that I deserved this, after living through a cheating husband and being “turned in” for a younger model with perkier tits and an ass that was still too young to suffer the devastating effects of gravity, that handsome, amusing Matthew was my due. If he really looked like his pictures and was as normal as he seemed, then I could get over having to find a new dentist.
“Chris isn’t in this morning?” I was surprised to see the lights out in my boss’ office and his door shut at 10:30 A.M. on a Friday morning.
“No, today’s that charity golf tournament thing for the Breast Cancer Resource Council.” His admin, Donna, looked up from her laptop.
“I didn’t realize that was today. Well, they certainly got a gorgeous day for it.” It was a perfect early spring day, not a cloud in the sky and temps in the mid-60’s.
The Breast Cancer Resource Council was one of three charities our company, O’Donnell and Associates, supported through both monetary donations and services-in-kind. We often developed pro-bono videos for the BCRC as well as Autism Speaks and the Humane Society and regularly purchased tables at the organization’s black tie fundraisers. It was customary for us to invite and entertain our clients at these events which were generally packed with celebrities, as well as scions of business.
My boss, Chris O’Donnell, the company’s founder, was a man who walked-the-walk. The only one of three sons not to embrace the priesthood, the charismatic Irishman learned early in life that his easy charm and persuasive powers could be used for good without donning a frock and collar or disappointing the women drawn to his green eyes and sandy-colored hair. A master at hiring, Chris built a world-class video production company recognized for our award-winning work, and he expected all employees’ ethos to be synergistic with his own.
Less than a year after he formed the company, a recruiter introduced me to Chris, convincing me that I should talk to the president of this small start-up. “He sizes people up quickly, so don’t be surprised if you’re out of there in twenty minutes. I’ve sent him seven graphic artists and none of them have made it past the twenty-minute point.”
A two-man shop at the time, I met with the charismatic video producer and knew within minutes why no one had made it past the twenty-minute barrier. Answering one of his questions with blunt candor, Chris pounced on me with a rather intimidating response.
Instead of crumbling, I maintained eye-contact with this handsome guy and just began to laugh at him. “Looks like I’ve hit a hot button, huh?”
His smile was slow and I could tell by the laughter in his eyes that I had just passed the Chris O’Donnell test. When I left his office nearly two hours later, there was no doubt in my mind that I had found a new home.
“Do you know if he’s coming back in at all today?” I asked Donna.
Sitting back, she just shook her head. “I highly doubt it, it’s out at the Long Island National Golf Course in Riverhead.”
“Oh yeah, forget it, that’s over a two-hour drive.” My question was going to have to wait until Monday.
“And he had a limo take him,” Donna’s tone was conspiratorial, as if this were some Earth-shattering secret.
Laughing, “Good for him. And other drivers on the road. Sounds like he’s going to be doing business in the clubhouse this afternoon.”
Chris was legendary for bringing on new clients in the hours both on the fairway and those that followed at the bar. Our biggest clients came on board over a glass or two or three of Glen Livet.
Leave work and meet me at the Waldorf Astoria.
Matthew’s daily messages had become the highlight of my days. Logging on and seeing the little green dot next to his name instantly brought a smile to my face. The moment I signed on, I could count on a greeting and a message from him, as if he’d been waiting for the little green dot to light up next to my name. The man had me feeling like a middle-schooler.
It was Friday and our infamous brunch date was now only two days away. After work, Laynie and I had plans for highlights, eyebrow threading and champagne, as I prepped for Sunday’s meeting.
Why? Did Room 69 just open up or something? I kidded.
Ha-ha. You just can’t wait for brunch to ravage my body.
This man was so cocky. Ravage YOUR body? You’re the one who just invited ME to the Waldorf.
Only because I know when you see me you’re not going to be able to keep your hands off me. ☺
You are just that irresistible to women, Matthew?
Carissa, you are toast.
I was afraid he was right.
We’ll see. I’m still praying you’re not my dentist in disguise.
LOLOL. I can promise you that I am not. I can also promise you that you will willingly open your mouth for me. I’m getting hard just thinking about you.
The man was killing me. All I wanted to do was lock my office door and call him. I needed a cold shower. Suddenly waiting until Sunday seemed ridiculously far away.
I said a silent prayer that he would be as great in real life as he’d been over the past two weeks and that we’d have great chemistry – that went both ways.
“You need to rid yourself of that hairy bush. Maybe just a landing strip.” Our highlights were processing, and Laynie was on her second glass of champagne. “I am not letting you walk out of here with that beast between your legs.” She was dead serious.
“Please,” my tone was meant to shut her down. I took another sip of champagne before shaking my head.
“Tara, you’re making sure the hair on your head looks fabulous before you meet him on Sunday. Why would you not make sure the hair for his head looks fabulous, too?”
With an exaggerated sigh, “Because his head will not be playing I Spy with any of my body parts.”
“Let me see his picture again.” She put her hand out for my phone.
Handing it over, I watched her facial expression morph from interested into pure lust. “Why would you not fuck his brains out?”
“Because I really like him. I’d like to get to know him and see if this could go anywhere.”
“Girlfriend, what is wrong with you? The ‘90s are over, Tar. Time to join this century.” Motioning to a tiny woman, “Thao, my friend here needs her hoochie updated. Leave her a little landing strip and put it on my bill. Thank you, doll.” She then turned to me. “Not another word,” she warned, her pointed finger close enough to the bridge of my nose to feel the heat.
I held out my glass for more champagne and said nothing.
The outfit was brand new. Highlights were fresh and all excess, and potentially offending, body hair had been professionally removed. I’d spent more time in the gym over the last two weeks, since my first online conversation with Matthew, than I had in the past year, as if mega-workouts could miraculously morph my thirty-nine-year old body into its perky twenty-three-year old former self.
“I can’t wait to hear what he’s like in real life.” Jill increased the incline on her treadmill. She was as excited as I was, having lived through the morning updates of my nightly conversations with him.
“I’m really nervous,” I confessed. “I just know that if this is a bomb, I’ll really miss looking to see if he’s logged on and waking to his messages.”
“No need for nerves. You are fabulous and smart and gorgeous. And if it doesn’t work out,” waving her hand, Jill gave me what I already knew was great advice. “Next!”
Handing my keys to the valet at the historic inn that Matthew had chosen for brunch, I stood for a moment on the gravel driveway trying to absorb and memorize the pleasant onslaught to my senses. I took in my surroundings, almost surprised that spring had shown up, as I breathed the brackish air blowing in off the Long Island Sound.
The distinguished establishment was perched high on a cliff overlooking Greenwich, Connecticut on the Sound’s far shores. I couldn’t help but get swept up into the romance of the white clapboard structure that had been in continuous operation, serving thirsty, hungry and weary travelers in its quaint setting, for nearly 300 years. I wondered what handsome pairs of lovers had sat in the bar, foreheads together, chatting conspiratorially, as they let the spicy citrus hues of their Pimm’s Cups rush in waves over their tongues and planned their summers on the island. Perhaps Zelda and F. Scott had passed a Sunday at the inn. Feeling as if I had to duck as I passed through the door, the lintel barely inches above my head, I wondered if Matthew was significantly taller than our nation’s forefathers and had to stoop over to enter the building.
My breath hitched at the base of my throat as I caught my first glimpse of him at the bar. The pictures were no lie. Dressed in tan khakis and a light blue polo, the first thing I noticed were the muscles in his thighs straining his pants’ leg and then I caught sight of his biceps. They were ridiculously huge. The man was Rob Lowe’s buff younger brother. Hot damn!
Slipping onto the barstool next to him. “Matthew?”
As he turned to greet me, I was most surprised by the intensity of his pale blue eyes. The bulging muscles and his square jaw disappeared as I was captivated by the clarity of his irises.
This man was trouble. Very few men looked like this, and those men were not on dating sites. They were models, actors, scions of business. They were not on blind dates garnered via internet and phone apps. With the ease of a U.S. Open contender, I swiped the red flag away with a strong backhand. Get off my court, doubt!
“Carissa.” His large hand gave my shoulder a squeeze as he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “You’re even more beautiful than your picture,” he delivered the line with a practiced ease.
With a smile from the other side of the bar, the bartender asked, “What can I get you?”
“A Bloody Mary.”
“How spicy do you like it,” he inquired, sliding a glass out of the rack above his head.
“With a good kick.” Realizing he was going to be making the drink for me, I was immediately disappointed as I had thought this was the Make-Your-Own place.
Turning to Matthew, “This isn’t the Bloody Mary bar place?”
“Ah no, ah,” he stammered for a moment. “I couldn’t get a reservation there.”
The first sip delivered the necessary relaxation potion so that I was able to do more than just stare at this handsome man.
“Do you have a good dentist?” I asked and he cracked up, knowing the story of my dentist’s boundary breach.
“Actually I do and she’s in the city on 32nd and 3rd.”
“I like that. I work on Madison Avenue so that’s doable and a woman might be a very nice change.” His blue eyes were not looking at me.
“Dude, up here.” I pointed to my eyes. The scoop neck on my shift dress was not that low.
His smile had a sneer quality to it, “Carissa, it is hard to focus on anything but how I’d like to be touching you.” Reaching out, he ran two fingers along the inside of my bare upper arm. The pressure was focused inward, so while it looked like he was gently stroking my arm, that is not at all what he was doing. This time he looked me directly in the eyes, challenging me and knowing that I wanted to gasp and clench my thighs and yet, with lips slightly parted, I remained silent.
With his free hand, Matthew signaled the bartender for another round of drinks. I was already feeling the first cocktail on my empty stomach and I knew the second was about to obliterate me.
Chomping on my drink’s celery stalk, “No jumbo shrimp,” I mumbled.
Matthew sneered again, “I’d much rather see that piece of celery disappear down your throat.”
“You got me here under false pretenses, you know that.” Pointing the remainder of my celery stalk at him, I stared into his beautiful, pale eyes, unable to read them or get a handle on him. “So, what is it you are looking for, Matthew?” The vodka was making me bold.
“Someone I can have fun with. Someone who can just go with the flow.” His fingers were back on my upper arm, this time he let his thumb stray to stroke my breast.
Leaning forward, both to hide what he was doing to me and to let him get a good look inside my dress’ neckline, just to fuck with him, I spoke low so that he would have to listen, “You remind me of this underwear I used to have.”
“Underwear?”
“Mmm-hmm. They had days of the week on them. I think you probably have women for each day of the week and labeled underwear might really be helpful for you.”
Matthew straightened in his seat, letting out a guttural laugh. “So what day are you?”
“Well obviously, Sunday.” I took another healthy sip from my Bloody Mary, reaching the bottom of the glass. Once again Matthew signaled for the waiter to bring another round.
“So are you wearing your Sunday undies?”
Laughing, “No. Those were retired long ago.” Slowly, I crossed my legs the other way.
“I’ll bet you’re wearing a black thong.” His top lip pulled back into that smile/sneer. He was kind of a Rob Lowe with an Elvis smile going on.
“No, I’m not a thong girl. They are really uncomfortable. I’m all about comfort.” I was officially trashed and on the verge of pulling a Sharon Stone move on this player. Trying to focus on the sexual tension and his good looks, I didn’t want to think about the disappointment. What had seemed like a promising connection over the last two weeks held no promise at all. The man was a player. A horn dog. Beginning and end of story. I didn’t even want to begin to wrap my brain around how many women he’d slept with in his life.
“Comfort, huh? Did you wear your Granny panties for me?”
That made me laugh just as I was sipping my drink and I began to choke. He patted me on the back a few times and I took another sip.
Nodding, “I did. I wore the white cotton ones for you.” I kidded, pausing to take another sip of the spicy deliciousness before letting my filter completely disintegrate. With a smile, “I figured they’d be best to absorb any moisture.”
His eyes bore into mine as if I’d just reached forward and unzipped his Dockers. “You’d really be better with a polyester to wick the moisture away.” His words were incongruous with the intensity of his stare.
“I can’t believe you know that,” I laughed.
“Yeah, well…” he shrugged, as if that were an explanation, his gaze still holding mine.
I was reaching the bottom of my glass again in an effort to occupy my hands and mouth. Three drinks and no food, my fingertips were numb. Was this guy going to feed me or what?
“Let me run to the Ladies’ Room before we get a table.” I hoped he’d take the hint and be seated at a table with menus when I returned from the bathroom.
My step down from the barstool was daunting, but my feet hit the floor with more grace than I could’ve imagined in my highly inebriated state. Smoothing my dress down before I walked away, I caught Matthew’s eyes tracking my hands as they moved over my hips.
“Be right back,” I smiled.
The hallway toward the restrooms was narrow with uneven wide-planked wood floors. It was hard not to bang into the walls as I walked. My heels didn’t like the knotty pine boards beneath them. The second door I came upon was labeled, Loo, and with a laugh, I opened the door and felt along the wall for a light switch.
His body was behind mine moving me into the bathroom before I’d even flipped the switch. With one muscular arm wrapped around my breasts, he had moved me into the Colonial-decorated room and locked the door behind him. His other hand swiftly encased my throat, pulling my head back into him.
“You may not have gotten on your knees for the dentist, Carissa, but you’re going to get on them for me.” The arm that was wrapped around my breasts slid down my body, while his other hand remained firmly around my neck.
Pushing up my dress, he slid his hand under the thin material, his fingers beginning their exploration. “Commando,” he laughed. “I should have guessed.” And he continued his journey, maneuvering his hand around to the front of my body, pressing his flat palm against my lower abdomen until I was flush against him.
As his grip on my neck tightened slightly, I felt his warm breath just underneath his hand followed almost immediately by the scraping of his teeth. I shuddered, losing balance on my strappy sandals and melting into him. He took advantage of my unsteadiness, sliding his hand from my abdomen to between my legs.
“So smooth.” He ran his fingers over my newly waxed skin. “You did this for me, didn’t you, Carissa? You wanted me to explore your sweet, velvety pussy. So, so soft.” His hand around my neck continued to slowly tighten as his fingers ventured deeper into me. “You were so considerate, Carissa. I’m really touched. I love ramming into a naked pussy. And to wear a dress with no underwear. Mmm, mmm. Very, very thoughtful. You’ve made my life so easy today. All I have to do is bend you over that sink and push your dress up to fuck you.”
Loosening his grip on my neck, his hand traveled up my face slowly, his fingers entering my hairline like the rakes of a comb until he reached the top of my head, where he filled his fist with my hair. In one swift movement, he wrenched my head to the right, exposing the left side of my neck to his waiting teeth. I yelped, not sure whether it was from the delicious pain tingling along my scalp or the searing sensation at the base of my neck.
“When was the last time you sucked a cock?” his voice was gruff.
I was thinking about his question, trying to remember a time when I wanted Frank in my mouth. Matthew yanked my hair, demanding an answer.
Shaking my head, “Too long ago to remember.”
“Your asshole ex had no idea what to do with a beautiful, confident woman. A woman like you knows exactly what to do with a cock. Not like his twenty-something wife who needs to be trained.”
This man was not only hot, he was brilliant. He knew that would clinch the deal. There was no way, especially in my loose drunken state, that I was not going to prove to him that some post-pubescent piece of arm candy had anything on me. I was a woman. A real woman. With the battle scars and newbie little crow’s feet, just starting to take up residence on my face, to prove it.
Breaking free of his grasp, I turned to him, my eyes telling him I was up for the challenge as I stared him down before going in for a kiss and reaching for his belt buckle.
“You are a tiger,” he laughed.
I didn’t bother to answer as I intently focused on sliding my hand in the opening of his boxer briefs and wrapping my fingers around his warm, velvety shaft. I continued to explore, urged on by the power of his expansion and lengthening in my hand. When I could feel his skin taut over his hardness, I pulled him out of the fly of his Dockers.
With my free hand, I grabbed my own hair, twisting it into a ponytail and handing it to him.
The edges of his mouth rose until his top lip formed his sneer-smile. “Nice, nice move. Very sexy,” he complimented as I began to sink to my knees.
With an upward yank of my hair, he attempted to take back control.
Looking up at him, I smiled. “I can stop, if you’d prefer.”
His pale eyes looked even more transparent in the bathroom light. “Minx,” was the single word he spoke before pressing my head down with both hands without letting go of my hair.
It had been so long. So damn long since I’d had a man’s cock in my mouth, and a damn fine cock it was. The girth was impressive. Slowly I worked my tongue around him, deliberately making a slow meal of it, just to torment him. My morning’s solid intake had been limited to celery sticks, so I wholeheartedly was enjoying this feast as I took him deeper and deeper, inch by inch.
“Fuck,” he bellowed, as his crown neared the back of my throat and I tightened my lips around him. “Fuck.”
Pulling me up by my hair, he spun me around, bending me over the sink, as promised, then released my ponytail and my hair puddled around me on the cold marble countertop. I could hear the ripping of a condom packet and tried to catch my breath before he plowed into me.
Without a word, he grabbed both my arms and bent them over the small of my back, holding them firmly in place in one of his big hands. I felt his finger from his other hand swiping up and down my slit before plunging in. I groaned at the insertion of just one finger and my reaction made him immediately add a second finger. Spreading my legs a little for him because I wanted more, much more, was the signal he needed to stab a third finger into me, preparing me to accept his significant girth. I wanted it now.
“Give it to me,” I growled back at him, lifting my cheek from the cool marble.
Removing his fingers from inside me, he reached up and grabbed my hair, yanking it hard. “When I’m ready.”
Although his words rang of control, he immediately edged between my legs. I could feel the pressure of him against me, just starting to sink in and I pushed back into him, so that thrusting into me was his only option, which I answered with a tightening of my muscles around him.
“God, yes,” I moaned. I’d forgotten how good it felt. Drunk and fucking in a bathroom. It had been a long, long time. This was so not me and yet so very liberating. It was like a gift for living through all the crap and heartache with Frank and CB, for being the one to put Scarlett back together when her father didn’t put her first, for spending the last fourteen years on the backburner putting everyone else’s life in front of mine, for worrying about everyone else’s happiness but my own.
And I wanted an orgasm. A big, full-throttle, out-of-control orgasm. I wanted to scream so loud that the bartender and half the dining room heard me.
I tried pulling my right hand from Matthew’s tight grasp. I needed to touch myself. The more I struggled, the tighter his grip became holding me back from myself. Fuck. I needed my hand. And just as I couldn’t focus on anything but freeing my hand to pleasure myself, the thumb of his free hand thrust deep into my ass and my own hand quickly was but a distant memory.
“Yes,” I screamed as I started to quake around him. I could feel him stroking his cock with the thumb in my ass and I went far over the edge. So far that he let go of my hands, clamping his palm over my mouth until his body slumped onto mine, his broad chest heaving against my back.
Closing my eyes and feeling his warm breath on me, I realized I could just drift away into sleep, or possibly pass out, right there with my head on the marble counter. There was a comfort feeling having his big body on top of mine.
But it wasn’t a moment later that Matthew stirred and began to rise off me. I heard a splat in the toilet as he tossed in the condom and I forced my eyes open, then immediately began to straighten up, smoothing down my dress. Knowing my hair must’ve been a sight, I reached up to pull it to one side, hoping it created a look rather than merely appear as a just-fucked disaster.
As I turned to face Matthew, I realized I was truly ravenous.
“Well that was a good way to work up an appetite.” I joked, not sure how to act in this situation.
He almost smiled, but not quite, then the man looked at his watch. “I’ve got a 12:30 tee time, so I really need to run.”
I can only imagine the look on my face. Did he really just say that to me? Could he be that huge of a douche?
“So, you invited me to brunch with no intention of ever having brunch.” I shook my head. And although I wanted to sarcastically tell him what a class act he was, the fact that I’d just had sex with him in the bathroom didn’t exactly spell class act on my part either.
There was nothing to say and without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bathroom.
As I waited for the valet to bring my car around, I prayed Matthew didn’t come out before I left. Tee time. He was so full of shit. Descending the inn’s long driveway, it occurred to me just how much sex had sobered me up. Once on Rt. 25A, I looked for a drive-thru, finding the perfect one to counteract the remainder of the alcohol and provide the sugar and carb comfort necessary after this morning’s humiliation. Dunkin’ Donuts was my personal savior.
Settled back behind the wheel with a large dark roast coffee in hand, a bagel sandwich with cheese and bacon and a Boston Crème donut, this late morning trifecta served up the perfect comfort food breakfast to help my battered and confused ego on the twenty-minute ride home.
Tossing my keys on the kitchen counter, I dug my phone out of my bag and tapped the PerfectDate app icon. There he was, with a little green dot next to his name. Matthew was logged on. And there were no messages for me. Unlike every other time I’d seen him on the site over the past two weeks, he did not greet me the moment I logged on.
Golfing? Bullshit!
The asshole was not golfing; he was trolling for his next encounter. Douche!
Staring at my phone it wasn’t clear what was the correct thing to do. Send him a message saying, “WTF?” or “What the heck was that today?” Was he really going to ignore me and not acknowledge that I’d logged on?
In my bedroom, I tossed my phone on the bed and decided I needed a shower. Leaving a trail of clothes on my bedroom floor, I needed to cleanse every inch of myself, let every second of this morning be rinsed down the drain. The excitement of our flirtation of the last two weeks was gone, and I was pretty sure that empty feeling I was left with, was what was going to be the thing that haunted me most. He was a man I’d talked to for two weeks and met once, how could it feel like an actual breakup? I asked myself. It had been a long time since I’d had this overwhelming icky feeling after something ended. But those had been relationships that had lasted longer than two weeks. This just didn’t seem possible that I was feeling it and I wondered, was it the intensity based on how the new mediums were so geared toward talking or was I just such a novice at this again? Had hiding behind the Carissa persona actually given me the comfort and the confidence to really share who I was with this person prior to meeting him, and that in actuality, my anonymity had made me more vulnerable?
My mind was spinning and my inner thighs felt strained and tender, not unlike my heart.
With pruning fingers, I finally emerged from the shower feeling as if I’d rid myself of his touch. Swiping the condensation from the mirror, I let out a huge groan. There on the lower left of my neck was a purple bruise from where he’d bit me. Oh great, now I’d have to look at this little parting gift until it healed. Brushing my hair to the left, I decided not to blow it dry knowing a wild mess would probably cover it better.
Sitting on the bed and picking up the phone, I felt that obsessive pull to check the app. Yes, Matthew was still there. No, there was no message for me. And nope, not a word when I logged back on. After staring at the screen for a minute, still trying to decide what to do, if anything, I hit close and opened up another dating app where I deleted my profile information. Over the next five minutes I had done that with all of the dating apps and then deleted the app itself off my phone. The only one left was PerfectDate and I logged on one more time. Matthew was still there and hadn’t attempted to contact me.
“You know what, asshole,” I said to the phone. “I am not giving you any control. You’re a dick and I deserve better. You have skated through life on your looks. You’re a fucking hologram.” And with that, I deleted my profile from PerfectDate and then deleted the app from my phone.
In fifteen years, I’d slept with two men, Frank and now Matthew. Matthew’s purpose was to get me out there in the world again. And that, he did. It was very clear from today that beyond that, Matthew had nothing real to offer me.
If I’m meant to find someone, our paths will cross, I decided. And I smiled, hearing Jill’s voice in my head saying, “Next!”
Now I just needed a new frigging dentist.