Page 9 of Caught Stealing

“Here you go, boy. Enjoy,” I say and drop a big scoop of kibble in his bowl. Far be it from me to judge, but there is nothing about triangle pieces of overcooked cracker that appeal to me. But if you ask him, they are a delicacy. Goblin takes a mouthful and drops it on the floor, arranges the kibbles in what he deems the proper order, then eats them one at a time.

My phone dings, distracting me from the thrilling scene before me. I tap to open it and find I have an alert from the app. Add punctual to the list of positive things about Charlotte. Her yes reply flashes in green over her image along with an arrow pointing down. I scroll down to find a messaging option has opened.

“I guess we leveled up, Gobs.”

Goblin tilts his head side to side and his giant, triangle ears perk. He isn’t distracted by my issues for long but goes back to arranging and eating his food.

How do I respond? Tapping my finger on my phone, I chew my lip and consider options for a first date. Dinner could be nice, but that’s probably overdone. What if we don’t have anything in common, and we’re forced to stare at each other through an entire awkward meal? Movie theaters still exist, but do people even go to them anymore? Owen’s teasing about long walks in the park comes back to me but it gives me an idea.

Hi, Charlotte. I’m Andrew. It’s nice to meet you.

Meet her? I tapped send before I thought that one through, but I’ve never dated over an app before. Saying I am out of my element would be an understatement, but what’s done is done.

I’m not sure how long I’m supposed to wait for a response. Does the app send the messages immediately like text message, or does it filter through moderation first? This is why dating apps are stressful, I decide, and set my phone down so I can make my own breakfast. Since I didn’t get to have my donut yesterday, I choose pancakes and sausage. Some say men don’t need comfort food, but I’m here to prove them wrong.

Once I finish eating and get Goblin leashed up, I get a message. The walk can wait. I find myself in way too much of a rush to see if it’s Charlotte responding to my shoddy introduction. It is. It's a simple introduction like mine, and now there is an option to call her. I’m not sure how this app works, but it seems like the one being pursued gets to decide how fast we move through this meet and greet. I’m not sure it’s best to call her yet, so I type a response.

Full disclosure, I’ve never met anyone over a dating app before. It seems a little awkward. How does this even work? Do we just…go out? Message a while? Exchange pertinent information? I’m kidding about that last part…

I read what I typed a few times and figure it’s not awful and tap send. As soon as the bubble disappears, I regret it. What did I do? I sent her a novel. And asked for her pertinent information? Let no one ever say that Andrew Rossi does anything halfway.

Peering out the front window, I notice Nancy is already hard at work. If I go outside to enjoy another cup of coffee, she’s going to stop me to chat. It isn’t that I don’t enjoy our talks. I do, and Nancy is like the neighborhood grandmother. She’s always pleasant and has good advice, but right now there’s a redheaded bombshell with a beautiful scrunchy nose and a seemingly fun personality who has stolen my attention. At least, she has distracted me from things I don’t want to think about.

The app lights up and dings with a response. I’m not ashamed at how fast I scroll to read her reply, but I am ashamed that this is what I have been reduced to by a shoulder injury. I’m a thirty-two year old single man getting giddy over a woman I haven’t even met, showing a modicum of interest in me. But it’s a woman who doesn’t know I’m a pro baseball player—not yet—and there is something about that that raises my hopes higher.

Obviously I have to tell her what I do for a living, but I want to ensure she’s interested in me and not my soon-to-be-over career first.

Wait, what am I saying? “Chill, Rossi. No need to bulldoze this like you do everything in life.” Forcing myself to slow down, I open the message.

Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never done this either. Maybe we message for a while and see if we’re as compatible as this app thinks we are? Pertinent details. Uh…I’m not a creepy stalker? Is that pertinent enough?

I laugh but refocus. Hmm, no commitment, no awkward first date with no real background information? I can get behind that, especially since it gives me time to keep my career a secret and let her get to know me. And thus begins our first “messaging date” as the app calls it. I respond with what I hope is a good conversation starter.

I think that’s a great idea. It’s a way to get to know each other without all of the pressure, right? I don’t know about you, but I’m skeptical this app is as perfect as my friend says it is. Good to know you’re not a creepy stalker. That could be a real deal breaker.

Oh, right? I mean, if it’s so perfect then how do you end up with more than one match? What if your perfect match isn’t even on the app? What if they were set up with someone else, because you were a day late? It’s stressful, I say.

You really thought that through. I was only stressed about meeting a beautiful woman in person and having nothing to bring to the table. Another admission…I failed statistics twice.

I’d laugh, but that’s serious business, sir. How can anyone fail twice? I think you probably needed a tutor.

Oh, it was all on me. I’m not a math fan, but don’t hold that against me. I am not a stalker, so I also have that going for me.

I don’t know. I might have to hold it against you despite your stalking status. That’s strike one. You sure you want to keep going with this messaging thing?

Absolutely. I can survive one strike. There won’t be any more, trust me.

See to it there aren’t. I’m kidding though. I don’t think I have a single student who enjoys it, but it really is a useful subject. I mean, think of all the times you use math every day.

Fair enough. I will forever think of math in a different light thanks to you.

Ha, ha. I almost saw that smirk right over the app. You sound like my students always giving me smart remarks and asking when they will ever use statistics.

Oh, no. Not me. I was completely serious. I might even take another statistics class if you’re the teacher. You’re much easier on the eyes than my eleventh grade teacher, Mrs. Wardle.

Are you flirting with me? I’d send a raised eyebrow emoji, but the app doesn’t allow emojis.

I might be. Too much too soon?

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