Page 82 of The Play

When he passes it back, I can’t stop a laugh.

Fascinated by child psychopaths, unhealthy relationship with food, will break your PlayStation if you f*%k with me.

“That makes me sound like a lunatic,” I say.

“Look me in the eye and tell me thatnoneof those things are accurate.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Then I delete what he wrote and change it to:crime show enthusiast, food lover, all-around awesome person.

Once again, Hunter concedes. “I like it. All right, hitnextto finalize the account.”

I obey his command, then offer a nervous grin. “Now what?”

“Now we swipe.”

20

DEMI

IHAD NO IDEA THERE WERE SO MANY MEN IN THE WORLD.Obviously, I was aware the global population is in the billions, but how are therethis manyguys on this app, all within a sixty-mile radius of me? It’s way too much data. I’m on sensory overload as my finger flicks past profile after profile.

Like Dan, who enjoys kickboxing.

Or Kyle, who’s here for a good time, not a long time.

Or Chris, who wants me to “just ask.”

Or another Kyle, who describes himself with three eggplant emojis.

And another Kyle! This one likes to eat out. Hint hint, nudge nudge.

“Ewww! Why are all the Kyles so repulsive?” I demand.

Hunter thinks it over. “Coincidence,” he finally answers.

“Coincidence? That’s your best guess?” I can’t stop laughing. This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. I swipe to the next profile and gasp. “Oooh, I likehim. Let’s swipe right on Roy.”

Hunter examines the potential suitor’s photos. He whistles softly. “Fuck yeah. Check out those obliques. I’d do him.”

“Glad we’re in agreement.” I grumble in disappointment when Roy and I don’t match. The last three guys I swiped right on, I matched instantly with.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Hunter says helpfully. “A guy with a body like that has options.”

Literally two seconds later, a bubble pops up announcing I matched with Roy.

“Ha!” I say in triumph.

Hunter grins. “Looks like you made the cut.”

“What about this guy?” I ask about the next profile.

“He’s wearing sunglasses and a hat in every picture. He’s either bald and ugly, or a murderer. Though I’m sure the latter would be enticing for you.”

“Oh, for sure. I’d sell my firstborn to be able to psychoanalyze a killer.”

“It worries me that I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

---