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“Smaaaaaash!” Jorge grabs the phone from my hand and swipes right before I have a chance to swipe left.
“Gross!” I snatch the phone back. “Did you even make it past his picture?”
He’s hot; I can’t argue that.
Slicked black hair and piercing blue eyes.
A rugged jawline with that perfect amount of scruff to tickle your inner thigh.
“No, I was just thinking about staring up at his eyes as I?—”
I fling my hand over his mouth before he causes the old man to his left to have a heart attack—for the second time tonight. “He’s a taxidermist, Jorge. What even is there to taxidermy in the city? Pigeons? Squirrels?”
“I’ve got something he could stu?—”
“Jorge!” I slap his arm before laughing. “You are hopeless. And fucking disgusting.”
“Pass...pass...pass.” I hastily swipe left on the next few photos before pausing. “He’s kind of cute.”
“No, sweetie. That man is thirst-trapping you with a puppy.” Jorge shakes his head. He’s right. That ten is much less appealing and more like a six when you crop out that adorable long-eared beagle.
Taking the phone again, he swipes left for me. Horror-struck, I watch as he opens my settings instead of continuing to swipe through profiles. He scrolls to my age limits and adds two decades to it. “Time to expand your options a little.”
“I have no interest in fucking a fifty-year-old man.” I become acutely aware of how my voice is carrying when I draw the attention of the two older men sitting next to Jorge. I quickly murmur, “No offense.”
Too late.
There was definitely offense taken.
If the ground could open up and swallow me now, that’d be great.
Jorge hands me back my phone, and I aimlessly swipe through the pictures. My options are now flooded with men in their late thirties and forties, a demographic I had previously determined to be a tad too old for me. What does a forty-year-old have in common with a recent college grad anyway? Yet, I find myself occasionally swiping right.
“So help me if you don’t swipe right on him,” Jorge threatens as he all but drools over my phone.
Tristan.
Thirty-Seven.
Deep blue eyes.
An immaculately maintained beard.
Light brown hair with just enough curl to make it adorably disheveled.
“Son of a bitch!” I exclaim when I place his face. “That’s the asshole who spilled my drink down the front of me.”
My thumb hovers over the screen before swiping his photo.
“And we just swiped right on the asshole because…?” Jorge arches an inquisitive brow.
“To tell him he’s a fucking asshole.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TRISTAN
Taking care of my big brother tonight was not on my extensive list of things to do. But when Quinn called from the pub to let me know the shape he was in, I dropped everything.
