Page 75 of Swiped
His words made the breath leave her body. Those last few syllables were like magic melting into her wounds despite the anger and adrenaline still coursing through her. She closed her eyes and drew in a shaky sigh. She wanted to take his hand and tell him that she was utterly exhausted, that she was glad he told her about Thom, that all of the pressure from the contest was making her act crazy to everyone in her life . . .
But Rami kept talking. “And the world deserves better than some shitty algorithm that treats us all like commercial products. But what do I know? Maybe you just enjoy dating your number one customer.”
Nat’s mouth fell open in shock. She hated Rami. His sparkly eyes, his shiny hair, and his pouty lips — she wanted to crush them all. “Got it. My app is trash; that’s the point you’ve been making this whole competition — except no one seems to think that but you.”
Rami nodded sadly. “Yeah, I know.”
Nat put on her best mean girl voice, powered by the pain throbbing in her chest like an engine. “See, the thing is, we live in the twenty-first century so maybe you can just get over yourself and deal with it?”
“Can you?”
She rolled her eyes. “Good talk. I have a man waiting for me at home. Why’d you text me, Rami?”
He looked closely at his cocktail.
She watched his face for any sign of movement, but he was stoic. Thick brows knitted in thought, Roman nose pointed tohis hands, long lashes down, and his espresso eyes closed to her. “Hello? You wanted to meet—”
“No,” he interrupted, “I’m glad you’ve got someone for tomorrow.” He sat up straight and fixed her with a flat glare. He brushed the hair off his forehead and jutted his chin. “I just wanted to give you the heads-up that I’m bringing someone, too. Her name is Allison.” He paused. “She’s great.”
Something heavy dropped into Nat’s stomach. She wished it were anger, but it very much wasn’t. All she wanted was to go home, but even that was ruined — half-emptied into Sara’s moving boxes and with Thom’s checkered past waiting for her in bed. Heat stung in her eyes, so she narrowed them at Rami. “Awesome. We both won.”
He grimaced with the last swig of his bourbon. “Looks like it.”
“What a moment of optimism for the world.”
“You’re welcome, humanity.”
Nat downed the rest of her drink with trembling hands. “See you and Amanda tomorrow, then.”
Rami scoffed. “Allison. And don’t worry, I won’t introduce her to Thom.”
Nat gaped at him. “Asshole,” she said, turned on her heel, and left.
Rami slumped over his glass. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”
Chapter 18
The day of the BuzzFill BuzzCheck Exclusive, Nat went to work, as usual. After the blow-up with Rami, she had crept back into bed with Thom and cried silently into her pillow before finally succumbing to exhaustion sometime around four in the morning. When he had woken her up with coffee and a kiss on the cheek, she hadn’t been able to muster the energy to do anything but nod her thanks from bed and confirm their plans to meet up later. He also just looked damn good turning over his shoulder to wink at her as he pulled on his dress shirt — a force too powerful for anything like better judgment. Whatever train this was, and wherever it was going, it had left the station. All Nat could do was go along for the ride, or more likely, the trainwreck.
The interview was scheduled for early evening as part of the opening events for the BuzzForce Expo. So, she had eight long hours to try to stay calm. She did some rote running of numbers and smashing of bugs in the code, but her mind was all over the place. She mainly clicked around the internet, hoping to distract herself with clickbait articles about everything from the twenty-five things cat owners should never do, to elaborate casserole prep videos that she would never, ever, in a million years, be making. Still, she printed the recipes and put them in her purse.
It seemed to be the same for the twins, who were unusually fidgety but still kept to themselves all morning. Every now and then, Nat would look up to see them whispering to each other in a concerned, mirrored huddle. But whenever they met her gaze, they would smile brightly, wave, and scatter.
Nat slumped in her chair and thumbed open her phone to Sara’s social media pages. It was pathetic to try and glean whether or not her supposed best friend was planning on showing up to the interview by stalking her posts — patheticand a long shot in terms of getting any useful information — but Nat couldn’t resist. Her feeds were the usual mix of sunsets, selfies, and salon memes. Nothing new, nothing that announced different plans for that evening, or that she was in the market for a new, non-shitty friend. Timidly, Nat scrolled down the grid to make sure Sara hadn’t deleted any of the pics of them together. She hadn’t. Nat sighed with relief and a flood of dopamine. Maybe there was still hope.
Before she’d left for work, she’d seen that at some point Sara had indeed taken theTeam Natshirt and the tea, but there had been no communication about any of it. Maybe she would show up wearing it. Or maybe she was just using it to wrap up some glassware in one of her moving boxes. Nat swiped away from Sara’s page and let herself doomscroll her brain into numbness.
After lunch, a lush bouquet of flowers arrived from Thom with a note about how happy he was to be a part of this success with her. Nat stuck the note to the center of the office fridge with a magnet.
Only seven more hours to go.
* * *
Rami tossed in his bed. How dare Nat rob him of the simple, human pleasure of napping? On top of everything else! He checked the time again. It was barely past noon.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t tired. He’d hardly slept after getting home from the bar. Somehow, the heady mix of nagging guilt over Allison and crushing regret over not just missing, but completely shattering his window with Nat hadn’t exactly lulled him into dreamland. He mentally waved goodbye to the version of his life where he was fresh-faced and perky for the interview. Nope, he’d be as worn out and stressed as ever.
He punched his pillow into a better shape and cracked his knuckle on the headboard. Perfect.
