Page 15 of Fluke
“And … we’re talking about a hack. As in—I don’t want to do the math. Math sucks. Give me a way to suck calories out of pizza, not an easier way to do algebra.”
She laughs. “It’s basic arithmetic, not algebra, you dork.”
I flop on the couch. “If you’re not a math person, all numbers are algebra.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath for a calorie hack. Crap like that is how these scammer companies make millions.”
“Speaking of making millions, did you see the kid that makes millions a year playing with toys online? He gets them sent to him, his parents film him playing with them, they post it, and voilà! Money.” I frown. “I need to be sponsored.”
Kerissa sits down beside me and scrolls through her phone. “Who would you get to sponsor you?”
Good question. I look around the room and take in the eggshell-colored walls and ceiling fans that probably remember the late twentieth century. It’s not like the marble countertops and crystal chandeliers that I grew up with or the modern, sterile unit I occupied in Lakely … and I really kind of like it.
All the updated rentals in Kismet Beach are occupied and have a waiting list behind them for when they’re not. If I wanted an ocean view for a realistic price, my only choice was to move into something that needed work. I was nervous about it at first, but now I understand the pull some people have to places that need to be renovated.
I’d love to do so many things with this place—things I won’t do because I don’t own it. But if I did, I’d paint the walls something warmer and less uninviting. I’d remove the wall between the kitchen and living room so I could hang out with people in one bigger space. This place would turn into something cozy and comfortable. It would be a place like I’ve never really lived before.
“Hmm … I’d take one of those architectural shows that come in and renovate your dream home. Or a car company so they can send me new cars every year, and I can just drive them around and video myself. Or if I’m being practical, the insurance company. I feel violated every time I see that payment clear.”
She hums in agreement.
“What about you?” I ask. “Who would you get to sponsor you?”
“I don’t know. I’d be happy with a sugar daddy at this point in my life.”
I laugh.
She puts her phone on her lap. “I’m serious. We’re almost thirty freaking years old, Pip. I’m tired of doing this all by myself. I’m actively lowering my standards in hopes I can find some rich old guy who just wants arm candy in exchange for paying my bills.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“Terrible?Why?” She holds out her hands. “I’ve not given up on finding an actual soulmate—if such things even exist. And for the record, I’m not sure they even do. But I’m starting to wonder ifsoulmateis a social construct designed to make people actually believe they’re supposed to be with their mate to quell the divorce rates.”
I shake my head.
“I mean it.” She picks up her phone again. “I wonder if people around the world believe in soulmates or if that’s just an American thing.”
“No clue.”
“What about you? Do you believe in soulmates?”
I rest my head against the cushions and close my eyes.
Kerissa’s question is one I don’t like answering. It feels like a trap even though I know she doesn’t mean it that way.
In the depths of my heart, I think everyone on the planet has a perfect match somewhere. But the odds of haphazardly bumping into that person are slim.
That’s one of the reasons I love working for Bloom Match. Being surrounded by people who believe in love—that would put themselves out there like our clients do for a chance to meet their lobster—is uplifting. It’s fun. It’s heartwarming, and I love everything about it.
Except for Chuck. Fuck Chuck.
“Probably,” I say, looking at her. “If you take the number of people on Earth, it’s logical to believe that one of those eight billion people would be a perfect fit.”
She smirks. “Ooh. Did you just do math?”
“No. That was logic. Anyway,” I say, tucking my legs beneath me, “just because I believe they exist doesn’t mean I think you’ll necessarily ever meet them.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you to be the romantic out of the two of us.”
