Page 59 of Catfish

Chase: I wish you everything. Honestly.

...the fuck?

I reread his texts, starting to feel a little paranoid that maybe I read his personality wrong. Damn, was he a prude?

No. No. Seriously he was talking about kissing my neck and massaging my shoulders when we both know he would’ve ended up in my bed.

So...what the hell?

Geezus.

Why does my heart feel heavier by a man I’ve never met in my life? Have I really become that pathetic?

I take the drink that was bought for me and chug it down in one gulp.

Fuck him.

This just proves that I'm too good for him anyway. He can take his cookies and shove them up his ass. Maybe he got pissed off about that.

But, hello, has he ever heard the saying “don’t take candy from strangers”?

Stranger danger.

It’s taught in elementary school, for fuck sakes.

“Let’s go talk to them.”

Sadie can’t help but beam. “Really?”

I shrug, grabbing my purse off the bar top. “Sure, why not?”

It was okay for Chase to make innuendos, but the moment I throw one at him, it's a problem all of a sudden?

I could honestly cackle at this point.

Yes, cackle.

This was so half-ass stupid. I’ve messed with him a million times over and now he’s sensitive? Now he can’t take a joke? Well, it wasn’t a joke, I was fucking serious.

Maybe he has a small dick.

Ow, shit, I didn’t think about that. Sounds like a personal problem.

I lead Sadie towards the two men at the end of the bar, their eyes latching on to us as we approach. Cocking my head back, I let my hair sway off my shoulders and my hips work side to side. The typical girl move to get guys to start at my face and roam down my body.

“Ladies,” the smaller dude greets as he turns his body to face us. “Thanks for joining us. Should we grab a table?”

“That’d be great,” I reply with a loaded smile. Immediately, he waves down a waitress, alluding that he’s desperate as fuck.

Shocker, we’re at a bar.

His buddy, on the other hand, is suave and comfortable, a slow smirk appearing on his face as his friend rattles off his request for a corner booth. He doesn't introduce himself, just lets his index finger circles the rim of his glass.

With chocolate brown hair and matching eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, his bone structure was perfect. He looked like Clark Kent in a baby blue button-up shirt and jeans.

The exact opposite of Chase.

“I’m Billy,” his frantic guy friend says, reaching out his hand in front of my face. “This is my friend, Dexter.”

---