Page 43 of Sleeping with Her Enemy (49th Floor 2)

“You did not!”

“We signed you up to bring wine,” Cassie said, holding in laughter and not even having the good grace to look chagrined anymore.

Amy grabbed her phone and scrolled back through the texts. At least they didn’t say anything embarrassing. Unless… “Did you guys delete any texts?”

“No!” everyone protested in stereo.

“We’re not doing this for shits and giggles,” Danny said, patting her on the arm. “We just want you to be happy.”

We just want you to be happy. Maybe it was the margaritas, but tears prickled in Amy’s eyes. Because unlike all the times her mother had uttered the same sentence just before she’d done something shitty like force Amy to take ballet instead of play softball, she thought Danny might actually mean it.

“Yeah, but don’t go and fall for this guy,” Danny said. “He sounds like kind of a jerk. Keep things casual.”

“He is kind of a jerk,” Misty said, “at least from what I’ve seen from afar at the office.”

“But you keep saying you aren’t looking for a relationship, right?” Cassie said.

“That’s right,” Amy said. “I was with Mason for seven years, so I’m thinking it might be time for a little…” Gah, if she couldn’t even say it, how could she do it? No wonder she was such a disaster at this.

“So it doesn’t really matter if he’s a jerk, does it?” Misty asked, grinning. “Because he’s also hot as all get out.”

“All right then!” Danny slammed his fist on the bar. “We’ll expect a report tomorrow night. Preferably with pictures.”

Amy laughed in spite of herself. “It’s not like that either—at least not with him.” Then she stopped laughing. It could have been, had she not blown it. “I gotta find someone else to, um…be casual with.” She’d already blown it with Dax.

“Are you on Tinder?” Danny asked.

“What’s Tinder?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Don’t get on Tinder!”

“We can’t all have attentive billionaire boyfriends,” Emma said, taking out her phone. “It’s a matchmaking app, and it’s good entertainment. It’s not like you have to actually do anything. But you could play around a little, check out the field.”

Amy was confused. “I have no idea what you guys are talking about. It’s like you’re speaking English, but somehow the words aren’t adding up to something I understand.” She took a loud slurp through her straw, hoovering the dregs of her drink. “How many of these have I had?”

“Anyway!” Cassie said. “The point is that it’s your time now. The world is your oyster.”

It didn’t really feel like it, but Amy appreciated the sentiment. “Thanks,” she said, her voice having grown embarrassingly scratchy.

“Here’s to you, sweetie,” Cassie said, lifting her glass. “I think things are gonna start looking up.”

…

Twenty-four hours later, Amy was addicted to Tinder. It was sort of awful, but it was sort of awesome. The instant decision, the swiping. The thrill of receiving a grammatically appalling expression of interest.

She was intent on the idea of a casual hookup or two—the antidote to the seven-year thing with Mason. A day ago, she would have said she was old-fashioned enough to think that she should meet her hypothetical hookups in the normal way. At bars, in the park—in the actual world, in other words—where she could see if she was actually attracted to them in the flesh. And of course so she could make sure they didn’t set off any Spidey-sense alarm bells.

She swiped through a few more profiles. But apparently this was how people did it now. And there was one advantage to Tinder that the real world lacked. She could cull guys without having to administer a real-life spelling test.

But no! That was not the point! It didn’t matter if a one-night stand could spell!

“Hey.”

“Oh!” She jumped about a foot as the elevator doors opened on the tenth floor of Kat’s building to reveal Dax standing in the corridor. She fumbled the Tinder app closed on her phone in the midst of right swiping a very cute guy. He’d had green eyes like Dax.

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