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Is this judgment on me, or my dating profile? There wasn’t a date on the page that he could see, so he had no way of knowing when she’d scored him.
He picked up the page. There were more pages underneath. Those were marked with “version” and then a number, all the way through six. Like the top page, attributes ran across the top. Unlike the top page, he was the only person being scored.
He picked up one of the other pages, version three, and compared it to the one he was holding in his hand. Education level was gone. So was something vague called “books.” He still must not have scored very well, since there were three more versions she’d been working on. Version four was also missing height.
The contentment that had been lingering in him since he picked her up for their date yesterday morning disappeared in a wave of unease.
Not only had she been judging him, but apparently he hadn’t met whatever standards she had set for any man she would consider a serious candidate for dating.
He tossed the pages onto the desk. Was he a little bit of dick on the side while she looked for the man who passed her test? Or had she gotten so desperate that she was abandoning all her high standards?
Neither question—nor their answers—said anything good about what she thought about him. And, frankly, he thought better of himself to be anyone’s second best choice.
Even if that someone was Marsie.
He wanted to stomp out, head home and lick the wounds that the pages had ripped into his heart, but first, he had to know which option he fell into. He picked up the papers again, leaving the cookbook behind, and walked into the kitchen.
* * *
“DID YOU FIND IT?” Marsie asked as she heard Jason’s footsteps in the kitchen, her head buried in a cabinet. She hadn’t made a roast chicken in a long time and had no idea where she’d put her roasting pan. She had cooked a lot when she’d lived with Richard, but that had been a while ago. She hadn’t touched anything more complicated than a pot and a frying pan in years.
“I found something,” Jason said. His tone made her stop her digging, pull her head out of the cabinet and stand up. He looked as angry as he had sounded.
No. Not angry. Angry was too small a word. He looked furious, the light in his eyes shifting between nothingness and fury while the muscles of his face seemed barely able to contain the emotions that were coursing through him.
Papers sailed through the air, landing on her counter and spreading out before her. “What are those?” she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Score sheets. Unless you have another name for them.”
“No.” Her voice was small, and she wasn’t able to put anymore force behind it. “I never called them anything. Spreadsheets, I guess. Like in Excel.”
“So the final scores live on your computer.” His nod was tight and hard, like she’d confirmed the worst. “You probably should have kept everything on your computer. Less likely that Waterski or I or one of the other men you’ve judged would find your assessments. Or did you hide them when any of your other candidates came over?”
“Candidates?” She took a step forward, to go around the counter and be near him, but the sharp jerk of his head stopped her cold. He didn’t want her anywhere near him. From his body language, she was already too close. In the same city might be too close.
“That’s what it looks like to me.” He inclined his head to the pages spread out on her kitchen counter. “This looks less like dating and trying to find someone compatible and more like I was applying for a job and didn’t realize it.”
The stone of her countertop was cold under her hand when she steadied herself. When he put it that way…
“You know about the algorithm. You even teased me about it.”
“Yeah. I did. It’s different, on this side of it. Looking at my scores. I didn’t do well, did I.”
“No,” she said, then bit her lip.
He laughed, but there was no humor in the noise. “You know, I’ve always admired your honesty.”
“I was trying to get you to pass. I wanted you to pass. So, so badly.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, the idea that you had to work so hard might actually make me feel worse.”
