Page 6 of Not Like Christmas At All
Does that bother me?
Yeah, it does. But it shouldn’t.
I can take a raincheck if you want it to be a double date.
NO! That wasn’t what I was insinuating. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Please still come.
Okay.
My answer is short, but irritation rushes through me. Not only because Lincoln’s bringing a date, but because Zee thinks I need to bring someone now. Why? I can handle seeing Lincoln on a date.
I have a crush, not an unyielding love for the guy.
Tossing my phone to the side, I return my full attention to my coffee, sipping the foam from the top. My chest tightens as I mull over Zee’s texts, replaying them in my mind. She’s never felt the need to tell me about Lincoln’s plans before, and I haven’t clued her in on how I’ve been feeling. She knows I think he’s attractiveand I love to tease him while we’re at work, but I’ve never flat out told her my attraction to him is more than just physical.
After another few sips of my coffee, I pick my phone back up and open up the App Store, searching for SparksFly.
Should I download it?
If Zee hadn’t taken the leap of faith last year, she would have never met Miller.
But then again, I’m not actively looking for anyone. I have no time for a partner at this stage in my life.
A hookup, however…
Why not?
Within seconds, the app is downloaded, open to the sign up screen, and ready for me to input my information.
Hesitantly, I fill out the questionnaire.
Noelle Winters
Twenty-eight
San Diego
Bio: Can you light up my life like a Christmas tree?
Interests: Spending time with family, the holidays, my dog. Not looking for anything serious or long-term.
Uploading my favorite photo of me from last Christmas—me looking at my parents’ Christmas tree, my wild, curly raven-colored hair swept back with a red velvet bow—I clench my jaw, wavering for a moment, before clicking submit.
There.
Done.
The screen immediately refreshes, opening to the profile of a somewhat attractive twenty-three-year-old, but I swipe on by. My palms start to sweat while I peruse a handful of men the app wants to match me with, all of which are handsome, and surprisingly, seem to be successful.
A few do catch my eye, and I swipe to confirm my interest, but once we’ve been paired, I close out of the screen, not wanting to be the first to send a message. I’m not ready for that next step—maybe I shouldn’t have created an account to begin with.
My phone hits the couch with a soft thud as I toss it aside, also abandoning my now empty mug on the coffee table, to go get dressed.
As miserable as it’ll be, I need to go to Fashion Valley Mall today and shop for gifts for my sisters. Leave it to their bougie asses to have expensive taste, forcing me to shop at the upscale mall I try to avoid.
When I enter my bedroom, Pebbles groans, stretching on her oversized plush bed. Pushing open the curtains, I let the daylight assault my poor sleeping beauty.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” I singsong, bending down to scratch behind her ears.
