Page 23 of Five
Me:I know. Sorry, I had to run…duty called. I was wondering if you’d be up for a kind of virtual date… you know… do a vibe check?
PolyApp has an intriguing functionality with something called a Vibe Check, where interested parties can do a face-to-face call and hang out. It seems like the perfect means of seeing if the person you’re chatting with is who they appear to be, and if there’s any chemistry before making the mutual decision to move forward.
Oliver:I’d actually planned to ask you the same thing, so absolutely. Neve, would you like to have dinner with me this evening, screen to screen?
Me:Why, sir. I’m blushing.
Oliver:Are you now?
Me:LOL stop. Thirty minutes?
Oliver agrees, and I hurry to give myself a quick touch-up in the bathroom and then I make myself a plate of cheese, crackers, and pickles. I eye the pickles ruefully, then add a few more. If Oliver isn’t into pickles, we’re doomed.
I grab an apple ale and settle at the counter, propping the phone up in front of me just in time for the phone to ring with PolyApp’s vibe check function.
Answering, I gaze at the face looking back at me while something akin to panic flutters in my belly.
Oliver is hot.Like really, really, way out of my leaguehot.
He looks to be lean but muscled, with chestnut hair that waves back from his forehead, intelligent blue eyes, and sculpted cheekbones that I’m a little envious of.
“Neve?” A small frown forms a divot between his eyes, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Oliver! Sorry, I was just… looking. Hi.” I cover my face and reach for my beer. Not sixty seconds into a vibe check and I’m making an utter fool of myself.
Oliver laughs, the sound warm and deep and masculine. “It’s really nice to see you, Neve. If it’s not completely inappropriate of me to comment on it—you’re even more beautiful than your photo.”
I feel my cheeks grow hot. I’m not beautiful. I’m extraordinarily average, maybe even a little on the thick side. Certainly, I’m no Helen to match this Paris. “I have purple in my hair,” I say inanely.
I do. I keep the tips of my dark brown hair colored purple, as a kind of ever-present reminder of my brother. Purple was his favorite color. I remember my father, whom we spent summers with here in the Keys after our folks divorced, complaining loudly about it being a ‘sissy color.’ He lived for the day Oliver would grow up and become manly.
That day never came, of course. I close my eyes, battling back twin feelings of embarrassment and sadness.
This vibe check was a bad idea.
“I see that. Love it, very edgy,” Oliver says. He motions at my plate. “Is that your supper?”
Why hasn’t he hung up yet?
“Um, yes?”
“Pickles and beer.” He runs a finger along his bottom lip, clearly struggling with laughter. “Remi, come get a look—”
Another face bobs in the screen, and another excruciatingly good-looking man eyes my food. “That’s her meal? Good lord. We need to fix this, and fast.”
I squint at him, hugging my plate to my chest defensively. “I happen to like pickles and beer, thank you very much.” There’s something…
…holy freaking hotness.It’s the guy from the bookstore! One of them, anyway.
He waggles his eyebrows. “If you come here, I’ll feed you real food, baby girl.”
“I seem to remember you like to cook,” I say, taking a chance.
He dips down, maybe trying to see me better in the screen. “Well, I’ll be damned–”
“All right, enough.” Oliver shoves him aside, and after a brief byplay, Remi disappears. “So, that’s Remi. He owns this island that we live on, and he’s pretty much a gourmet chef.” Tipping his own plate up, he shows me a meal that makes my mouth water and my pickles suddenly seem a bit unappetizing.
“Oh, wow. That’s tempting, I admit. So… who’s ‘we’? Who do you live with, exactly?”
