Page 7 of Riptide

She doesn’t blink. She’s kinda cute in a stabby way.

I reach for my phone, needing to find something else to do rather than play the blinking game with my neighbor’s cat.

Swiping through some games, I decide to delete the ones that steal my brain cells, which happens to be most of them. Candy Crush can go, so can Bottle Flip and, Jesus, I have too many. I keep Sudoku and the few other brain-training games.

Then my thumb hovers over my dating app. It’s been months since I touched it, but right now, the idea of not doing anything other than grading or staring at a cat sounds pathetic enough to make me cave. Couple those reasons with Eugene’s timely pep talk…and before I know it, I’m tapping the Spark app to re-download it. Don’t ask me why—curiosity, I suppose.

The loading screen flickers, and my old profile pops up, just as I left it a few years ago.

Name: Nicholas

Age: 29

Bio: “I’m allergic to bad grammar and small talk.”

I cringe. Not only because I hardly go by Nicholas anymore, but also because past me was a pretentious, moody ass. I must’ve been going through my post-divorce grump phase. I internallylaugh at the ‘past me’ thought, since present me still is allergic to bad grammar and small talk.

I edit my profile and change my name first to Foxx and start to scroll through old messages, expecting nothing but ghosted conversations and a graveyard of bad matches. Instead, I’m reminded exactly why I stopped using this app in the first place.

The last time I actually went on a date from here, I matched with a guy named Joel. Looked normal. Mid-thirties, hot in a rugged, tattooed, owns-a-motorcycle kind of way. His picture reminds me of all that, and it looks like he’s still active. Unsurprisingly.

We talked for a few days. Nothing groundbreaking, but good enough for me to agree to meet. And then when Joel showed up, I realized a few things very quickly…

First red flag: His profile pictures were…not current. Like,fifteen years agonot current. While I don’t mind an age gap, it immediately made me feel on edge because he’d lied about something. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt because, hey, maybe we could’ve been friends.

Second red flag: He wouldn’t shut up about his bike and kept calling it his “precious baby girl.”

Internally, I yacked pretty hard.

Third red flag: Halfway through dinner, he got a call—from his mom. And answered it.“No, Mommy, I can’t pick up your dry cleaning right now. I’m on a date.”

I sat there, stunned, as he argued with his mother for five straight minutes and called her “Mommy” at least six times.

Final red flag: When I tried to leave early, he leaned in and whispered:

“You have the most kissable eye sockets I’ve ever seen.”

I fled.

I got blisters, I fled so fast.

Deleted the app the second I got home. I shudder at the memory. What was I thinking?

But Eugene’s words echo in my mind.“…suddenly, all you’re left with is waiting.”He’s right. I need to be more like Eugene. So I concede and adjust my location settings, pushing the search radius outside of town to a wider area. No way in hell am I risking matching with a student, or Joel again.

I tell myself I’m not looking for anything serious. Just a distraction. Something simple because that’s exactly what this app offers.

Poppy flicks her tail from the armchair, watching me with the air of someone deeply unimpressed. “I don’t need you to judge me,” I grumble at her.

One of the profiles that gets me laughing is…

Bryce, 25

“Looking for my gym partner. Hit me up if you can handle a real man.”

No. Immediate no. I don’t need a gym buddy. Running is more my chosen poison of exercise. And who’s to tell anyone who a real man is? I roll my eyes and swipe left.

Tyran, 27

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