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“Last week.” I waved my phone at him. “You made me download it in front of you! I even spent a few minutes—hey!”
Robbie grabbed the phone out of my hand and bent over the screen. “You’ve got a whole bunch of messages. Eww, you swiped right on him?”
“I was drunk when I did it,” I said. “And I just don’t see the point. Tinder seems like the same thing as picking up a guy at the bar, but with extra steps.”
Robbie paused long enough to give me a look. “You don’t want to try because you have a big old crush on your Javert.”
I scoffed at his Les Miserables reference. “Javert’s the bad guy. Braden is totally a Valjean type.”
“A thief?” Jack said from his barstool. “Valjean was a thief. Javert was just doing his job.”
“I’m impressed by your theater knowledge,” I told him, “but my comparison was more along the lines of attractiveness. Braden is a Hugh Jackman, not a Russell Crowe.
“Now you’re overselling him,” Robbie said. “He can’t be that good looking.”
“You’d be surprised.” I leaned against the wall and sighed. “Feathery dark hair that’s always the perfect amount of messy. A strong nose, but not too big, with sharp cheekbones like European royalty. Enough muscle that he’s probably an athlete. When he takes his shirt off for the show’s erotic scenes, everyone stares.
“He sounds like the perfect lead for the show,” Jack admitted.
Robbie had stopped scrolling on my phone. “What about his eyes? Blue?”
I let out an exaggerated sigh and draped my arm over my face like Scarlett O’Hara. “Like a perfect summer sky.”
Robbie nodded to himself. “Here. I found you someone like that.”
He turned the phone around to show me. I blinked.
“Here’s a gorgeous guy you’ve already matched with,” Robbie said. “He should help you forget all about Braden McSexypants.”
I took the phone and squinted. “I doubt it.”
“Oh come on,” Robbie moaned. “That guy is everything you—”
“He won’t help me forget about Braden,” I interrupted, “because this is Braden.”
5
Nadia
The photo on the screen was taken at Coney Island. Four shirtless guys wearing colorful bathing trunks, arms around each other while they posed for the photo. The tall man on the end was shoving a cotton candy tube at one of the others mid-photo.
But my eyes were locked onto the man in the middle. Braden’s feathery dark hair was blown across his face, and he was giving the camera a perfect white smile. The name on the profile said BRAD, all in caps.
Robbie took back the phone and squinted at it. “Wait, seriously?”
“Positive,” I said, pointing. “That’s Braden.”
“Oh, damn!” Robbie blinked. “Okay, you were right. That man is fine.”
“Told you!”
“How did you not know it was him you were swiping on?”
“I was drunk!” I protested. “And there were four guys in the photo! I didn’t look closely, I was just swiping based on who looked hot.”
“You were swiping based solely on looks? Nothing else in their profile?” Robbie asked.
I almost bit his head off. “THAT’S WHAT YOU TOLD ME TO DO!”
