Painted Lace - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,3

hate the thought of dating. I do a good enough job coming up with my own list of topics to feel obsessive and insecure about without throwing my body into the mix.

I scroll through the list of men, feeling less confident about my decision to download the app by the second. I’m about to close it out and uninstall when a profile picture catches my eye. Like me, he seems to have used his real name rather than a screen name. Keaton.

The picture isn’t of a cut set of abs but a sweetly smiling man. He looks like he’s around my age and clicking on his profile confirms it. He’s listed his age as twenty-four and his profession as Depends on the day. I click on his pictures and find a few more that are all similar to the profile picture— short dark hair that seems to be messy more often than not, bowed pink lips, half-lidded bedroom eyes. Heat prickles at the pit of my stomach and dances over my skin.

I click on the chat icon, gathering my courage and typing out a message.

Austin: Hey

Yup, that’s the type of suave brilliance I bring to the table, ladies and gentlemen. Even though there’s a little green dot on his profile, showing he’s currently active, I don’t get an immediate response.

I look at my own profile picture one more time and decide it’s probably as good as it’s going to get. If it’s not interesting enough for Keaton, then so be it. When he doesn’t respond for a few more minutes, I abandon my phone on my coffee table and head into my kitchen to make myself something for dinner.

I riffle through the ingredients in my fridge, trying to decide what I’m in the mood for, and settling on stuffed peppers. I whistle to myself as I pull out the ground turkey, green peppers, cheese, and a few other things I’ll need.

I’ve always enjoyed cooking. It’s one of the few things in life that always turns out exactly how you expect it to. Provided you follow the correct steps, of course. I clean and tidy the kitchen as I go, wiping down the counters once the peppers are in the oven and ambling back into the living room after setting a timer.

My heart leaps into my throat when I see a message waiting for me from the M4M app.

Keaton: Hey

Keaton: You’re cute. New to the app? I don’t think I’ve seen your profile pop up before

He thinks I’m cute. I preen at the compliment, grinning and trying to think of something clever to respond with. I type and delete a few lame attempts, finally settling for something not entirely groundbreaking but safe enough that I won’t embarrass myself.

Austin: First time on the app. You’re cute too.

He doesn’t respond right away, and I start to worry that I should’ve tried for something a little more daring. He probably thinks I’m boring just like Harry did. Actually, what Harry had said when he dumped me was even more boring out of bed than in, and that’s saying something. Remembering the cruel words sends a stab of humiliation through me, just as fresh as the day they were flung at me over three years ago.

The timer on the oven beeps, and I retrieve my dinner, plating it and sitting down at my small kitchen table to eat it. When my phone finally buzzes again with a new notification, I almost fling my fork in my haste to grab for it.

Keaton: Sorry for the delayed responses. I’m bartending tonight.

A wild impulse to ask him what bar he works at crosses my mind. I quickly bat it away and shake my head at myself. I’ve exchanged all of three sentences with this guy and I’m thinking about stalking him at his job? Apparently, Luke was right. I’m more hard up than I realized.

Austin: Bartending must be an interesting job.

Keaton: It’ll do in a pinch for some extra cash.

I’m expecting him to ask what I do for a living. That’s typical social protocol after all. So, I start to type the answer to the inevitable question.

Keaton: Tell me the wildest thing you’ve ever done.

His unexpected question draws me up short and startles a laugh out of me. I guess that’s a much more interesting topic of conversation than our respective jobs. I consider his question for a few seconds, a sinking feeling coming over me as I realize I can’t think of a single thing I’ve ever