Chronicles of a Serial Dater - Book 2: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (3 page)

My food arrived only a few minutes after I stepped out of the shower. Feeling relaxed and happy, I cracked open a beer and settled in to catch up on my recorded shows. It was a special thing to have the apartment completely to myself, knowing I’d be alone for hours, but I simply couldn’t relax. Something was different.

The phone on the armrest was like a siren calling to me. It was scary how addicting the app had gotten in such a short amount of time. At any given moment, there were dozens and dozens of men out there waiting to talk, meet, and if I felt brave enough, hook up. The attention was intoxicating. Meeting new people was a thrill I’d only just rediscovered. And with every date, good or bad, I was a further step away from Kevin.

I downed the last of the beer and grabbed another bottle from the fridge, holding the cold glass against my skin as I flicked right and left on a few photos. Curling up on the sofa, I chuckled quietly to myself as I remembered how picky I’d been the first few days. Now I made judgment calls within a second or two, barely looking at their bios before deciding whether they were worth my time.

It didn’t take long before I matched with a few guys and struck up a couple conversations.

Delete. I moved onto another guy who started the conversation with a play on my name.

I thought about the slice of pizza swimming in my tummy and felt a little sick.
He’s just ruined Italian food for me, hasn’t he...

Thumbs down. Delete. Move on. These setbacks weren’t even setbacks now. I was becoming desensitized to the odd and unusually clingy interactions I now had with strangers on a daily basis.

By the time I finished my second bottle and was debating about opening a third, I hadn’t had a meaningful conversation. Hell, there wasn’t a conversation all night that hadn’t devolved into either an unsolicited photo or a request from me.

“Is it a freakin’ full moon, or something?” I wondered out loud. The fourth dick pic of the night popped up on my screen and I groaned, throwing my phone to the other side of the sofa.

Is this what men are really like when they have the cloak of anonymity? If society allowed it, would a guy just walk up to me in a bar, flash his dick, and try to cop a feel?

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. And almost like an afterthought, I remembered I had the perfect place to vent all these frustrations.

I opted for the third beer and settled at my tiny desk, ready to tell the world how shitty some of these guys were. With the heel of my thumb, I flipped through the manuscript I’d forgotten that morning.
I wonder if Clint is dating anyone? He doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who’d send dick pics,
I thought idly as my laptop booted up. And for whatever reason, it made me want to see it even more.

I shook my head and pushed the stack of papers away, trying to refocus back on my frustration and anger.

“I’m not old fashioned. I swear. I’m not looking for my Prince Charming but it would be nice to find a guy who is at least capable, or willing, to piece a few sentences together. Here’s what I’m talking about.”

I posted a screen shot from a conversation I’d had only an hour before, not even bothering to block out his name.

“Lovely, right? Yes, it’s a hookup app and yes, that’s what most people are looking to do. But I’m not an animal in heat. I do have a certain level of intelligence (which I question by still entertaining all this) and would like to at least meet you before we jump into bed. And if you aren’t willing to give me that, maybe a ten-minute conversation would be a good place to start. Like, how about this winner? No introduction, no hello, just straight to the point… so to speak.”

I paused, wondering if I was going too far by posting this screenshot. But I felt that little spark of anger deep in my gut. If this guy were to have flashed me on the street, I would’ve pointed, laughed, and drawn attention to it. So why should I feel any different if he was dumb enough to take a photo and post it under a profile with his name?

“People. Seriously. It’s the same as catcalling. Have you ever had a guy yell something out at you while minding your own damn business? Has that ever, in the history of histories, made you want to stop and talk to him? Have you ever seen a dick pic so amazing you’d drop what you’re doing, Uber your ass over to some hovel in Williamsberg, and drop to your knees? Come on.”

As I wrote, I felt a new persona take over. This wasn’t exactly me… but she wasn’t
not
me, if that makes sense. I was hamming it up, making it funnier, as if I were writing for an audience. Three beers in and I didn’t care. I found it funny at least.

“I’m waiting for a dating app to be invented for these cavemen. I’m dubbing it, Gruntr. It’s for the subset of men who think all they need to do is grunt a few times, wave their ‘club’ around, and wait for the ladies to flock in.”

I sat back and reread my post, making little tweaks here and there. It felt good to write again and even more amazing to have ownership about this whole dating thing away from my friends.

Just before I shut the lid on my laptop, I checked my email and saw a new message waiting for me. It wasn’t from Clint’s personal assistant. It was from Clint himself.

“Just got this through. Will have a look at it when I get a chance. Will be in touch soon. Clint.”

And out of all the conversations and messages I’d gotten that night, those three sentences set my heart thumping faster than anything.

My stomach ached from laughing so hard. I’d completely lost track of time and my nerves had long since thawed. Forrest was everything I’d hoped he’d be and more. And as I caught my breath, he took it away again.

He grinned at me, his cheeks dimpling and perfect white teeth gleaming in the dim light. “You have a beautiful laugh,” he said.

I blushed and looked away like some demure Southern belle. “Stop. I laugh like a donkey. Just ‘hee-haw snort.’ All bad.”

He chuckled and leaned forward. The cuffs on his rolled up shirt strained against his muscular forearms and I had to bite my lip. “
You
are beautiful.” I nervously laughed again and tucked my hair behind my ear. He squinted at me as if trying to figure something out before speaking. “You haven’t been on many dates, have you?”

“No, that’s true. And after the ones I
have
been on, you’re lucky I’m here.”

“I absolutely am,” he replied, holding my gaze until I blinked away. I think he sensed he was coming on too strong and leaned back. “Lots of freaks out there. I’m not ashamed to admit I was nervous walking over here tonight.”

“You were nervous?” I coughed. “What? You thought I was catfishing you or something? Afraid I would be fifty pounds heavier?”

“Maybe,” Forrest shrugged. “It’s a lot easier for women.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms dramatically. “Puh-leaze. You have no idea how many dick pics I had to wade through before we talked.”

“You have no idea how insane some of these women are,” he countered like a lawyer. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulled out his phone and after a couple swipes, started reading out biographies.

“‘My super power is that I don’t have a gag reflex. At first when people found out they called me a freak, now they just call me, all the time.’”

He peered up at me, his eyes glowing from the reflection of the phone. He shifted in his seat, his hand disappearing under the table like he was adjusting himself.

My gaze darted away. “That’s not
too
bad,” I laughed. “At least she’s straight forward.”

“Okay, okay. Sure. You want straight forward? How about this one. ‘Looking for a man to cum inside me so I can wipe my goopy vagina along the kitchen floor and pretend I am a slug.’”

I gagged a little, clapping a hand over my mouth in horror. And despite my disgust, a bark of laughter escaped my lips as I pictured Pluto scooting his ass across the floor, legs all wiggly on either side. “That’s absolutely disgusting.”

Forrest nodded, his lip curled with distaste. “Oh, and then there are these ones. ‘Blah blah, I don’t sleep with anyone on a first date.’”

I frowned, feeling a tiny twinge of fear in my chest that maybe he expected me to put out. Not that I hadn’t already decided I was up for it, but it was the expectation. “What’s so bad about that?”

He shook his head as he tucked his phone away. “That’s code. There are so many girls who only agree to meet up because they want you to buy them dinner. Then they disappear into the night with no intention of getting to know you in the first place. I literally had a date with a girl who sat texting on her phone the entire time, pushed the bill towards me when it came, and never spoke to me again.”