Page 3 of Stranger Session

The thought of that day heats my skin and turns my insides into a pressure cooker, boiling my organs until they feel like they’ll explode. I focus on the screen again, and a calm feeling washes over me. I click the link and begin plugging my information into the sign-up sheet. The best way toget over someone is to get under someone else, right? I add my picture and without thinking, I click submit. Panic sets in almost immediately.

What did I do?

I can just decline if they happen to message me back. The picture I included wasn’t my best. They’ll only choose one guy among god knows how many, so I’m probably worried about nothing.

Let it go,I tell myself.They won’t contact you, and if they do, just say you entered by mistake. Don’t worry, they won’t pick you.

No fucking way. I stare at the unread email in my inbox, but I can’t bring myself to click it. Maybe only a handful of people signed up for such a weird fucking thing, so of course I was picked.

I exit the app on my phone and pretend I never saw it. I try not to let my anxiety get to me, but it burns through the plastic as I stare down at my device.

Fuck me.

I open my phone again and bring up my email once more. It stares back at me with big, bold letters.

Vehement Photography.

Subject: Blind date shoot.

I click it with the hope of it saying,sorry, we have chosen other applicants. But it doesn’t. It congratulates me on being chosen for the free shoot. Great.

Thank you for applying to get a free photo shoot. Our blind-date shoots are our mostpopular giveaways. This is an experience you won’t soon forget! We are currently selecting your partner and will be in touch as soon as possible. If for any reason you have decided against participating, please respond to this email so we can give the next person an opportunity.

Now is the time to tell them to give the opportunity away to anyone besides me, but instead of clicking reply, my thumb hesitates over the link to their most recent shoot. I click it and their website fills my screen.

My eyes dance as I absorb the pictures. A girl sits on a man’s lap, leaning over him and kissing him. They look in love. They look happy. And something inside me wants that. The affection. The attention.

And the ability to walk away afterward like nothing magical just fucking happened.

Spending a few hours pretending to be in love might be worth the risk of an awkward moment or two, and there’snorisk of getting my heart broken once I leave.

When I go back to my email, I don’t decline. As much as I hate to admit it—and as much as I will never admit it to Taylor—I’m warming up to the idea. I’m beginning to want it.

I read the email again. They’re searching for my match, but how do they determine my match? Is it someone whose looks complement mine? What a shallow way to have a blind date, even if it’s just for a photo shoot. What kind of face complements mine, I wonder? Can attraction be picked this way? On the shallowest level?

You two look like you’d make pretty babies, so Imatched you both to each other. Flawless methodology. Can’t wait.

But now I have to play the waiting game. Once they’ve chosen my partner, we just have to wait for another email outlining the time and place for the shoot. And when I pull off my blindfold, I’m supposed to make out with a complete stranger as if I love them.

What could go wrong?

Chapter Four

Mariah

Icinch my apron around my waist, tie the strings into a neat bow, and get ready to work the counter. A line of customers winds through the small area between the counter and the front door. Whoever designed this place had little faith in our popularity. Unfortunately for us workers, we pay the price for their lack of foresight.

Agitated murmurs drift from the growing crowd. They’re alwayssopleasant before they’ve had their morning caffeine boost, and waiting in this packed space only makes them kinder by the time they reach the counter.

“Medium black,” a man shouts before I can even activate my register.

I can’t tell him to hold on and wait a goddamn second, so I just smile at him and let my anxiety eat away at me until the register finally chooses to wake up. I punch in a medium black coffee.

“Anything else with that?” I ask, my plastic smile still on full display.

“No, just make it fast,” he says without looking me in the eye.

My mother always said you catch more flies with honey, but this asshole is full of piss and vinegar. When a customer acts like an impatient toddler and demands expedient service, I guarantee the exact opposite.

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