Rick drummed his fingers along his door jamb.
Looked down, the receipt from the cleaning service was still on the table.
He snatched it up, wadded it, ran to the kitchen and threw it in the trash.
Nerves were jangling from his Achilles tendons to his earlobes.
He felt like his heart was humming a Misfits song he wasn’t in the mood for.
You don’t get nervous, Rick Larrity.
A car pulled in front of his house. A blonde got out and the car sped off.
His heart was Glen Danzig now, doing 20 Eyes in My Head.
Cut.
It.
The.
Fuck.
Out, Rick growled silently.
It’s just like a card game.
Her purse was small, manageable. He wasn’t sure why he liked that.
Her skirt was short, but not too short. He liked that too. It was the middle of summer.
The three June weddings he had been to put him over the edge, and after the last one, the second for both bride and groom, with a weird wine buzz gnawing at his loneliness he had downloaded the dating app.
Alicia was his first match.
They made eye contact as she walked up his walkway, and he settled himself, just like he would with a few feet of green felt in front of him.
It was her idea to watch the Tiger game. Their mutual love of the team had been one of the reasons they matched. His place won because he had a bigger TV. She joked about size, comfortably, confidently.
It wasn’t a hookup app. They marketed strictly to those looking for The One.
They laughed from her first step on his porch, through the appetizers he made, and when Javy Baez fouled one off a hot dog vendor’s steamer.
Alicia sipped her stout. No seltzer. Stout.
She was starting to wow him.
“So,” she said,” your profile says Consulting. Kinda vague.”
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