Enemies Abroad(79)

“Did I just get a match?”

I check. Some guy named Sergio sent her a message.

“I don’t know why you bother with this crap.”

She huffs out a sigh of annoyance and marches over to grab her phone from the couch. “Maybe because I’d like to get laid every now and then. I’m basically a sexless nun without all the perks of the convent.”

My dick stirs and I ignore it. I’ve gotten pretty good at it by now.

“Well I’m not sure this Sergio is up to the task. He looks like he waxes his eyebrows.”

“So? That sounds like a great first date idea. Mine are overdue.”

I quirk my eyebrow at her, so she deflects.

“Besides, who are you to judge? The girls you date wax themselves from head to toe. You probably have to tie their smooth, frictionless bodies down so they don’t slide off the bed during sex.”

I smirk. “I might tie them up, but not for that reason.”

She mimes a hearty puke session. “Gross. How did we get from my Tinder success all the way to you romancing plucked chickens and hairless cats?”

“You’re right, back to Sergio. Is he really your type?”

“Leave him alone and turn around. This is the part where I’m supposed to send him nudes, right?”

I lean forward and drop my foot from its spot on my knee. Now she’s standing between my legs. I’m nearly her height sitting down. Her phone is still in my hand and I scroll through a few of his photos. “Hmm, he’s short. A lot of short guys are like Chihuahuas—all bark, no bite.”

One delicate brow arches in challenge. “Oh, so you’re saying you’re all bite?”

Our conversation is veering into dangerous territory. I want to reach out and slide my hand around her thigh then drag it higher until it disappears beneath her shirt…trace the curve of her ass…

Instead, I sit back, putting much-needed space between us. “I’m just saying, any guy who takes selfies and waxes his eyebrows is going to be selfish in bed.”

“That’s fine, I’ve always felt I was more of a giver. Also, I don’t remember asking for advice.”

She looks down at her phone, and a deep, angry line forms between her brows when she realizes I messaged Sergio back for her.

SERGIO: Hey QT

SAMANTHA: How many children would you like to have? I’m thinking 10.





“Ian!”

“He addressed you with letters. I thought the prerequisite for Tinder hookups was to at least be moderately clever. He abbreviated a five-letter word.”

She turns back to the kitchen table. “I’m ending this conversation now.”



* * *



I don’t date much anymore. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed spending time with a woman who wasn’t Sam. I guess it was my mom when I was back home for Christmas. Cool story.

Part of the reason why I’m alone is that I’m tired of trudging through the same fight. In past relationships, it was always the same ultimatum: girlfriend or Sam. I always chose Sam, and they always followed through on their threat to leave.

Maybe I should start using dating apps too.

It’s a few days later when I ask Sam to check over my Tinder profile while we’re alone in the copier room at school.

She groans in annoyance.

“You’re doing it all wrong. You’re supposed to say something witty, not just boring details about your life, and there are hotter pictures you could have chosen.”

She deletes the words that took me five seconds to type.

“What’s wrong with telling them I’m a chemistry teacher?”

“You’re supposed to say it in a witty way, like ‘I teach chemistry, let’s see if we have any between us.’”

“That’s really bad. Honestly, the worst.”

“And you didn’t even include a shirtless photo. What’s the point of all that gym time if you aren’t going to flaunt the results?”

“I don’t have any shirtless photos of myself.”

Who does?

She snaps her fingers like she’s got the perfect solution. “What about when we went to the beach last summer? There was that photo of us together on Facebook. My aunts gushed over you for days, and I unfortunately mean that in the literal sense. When I told them we were just friends, one of them asked me for your number.”

“Oh, perfect. Let’s skip Tinder and just hook me up with her then.”

“She’s 68.”

“First date at Luby’s? Senior discount?”

She shoves my phone back against my chest and shakes her head. “You know what? Now that I think about it, I don’t think you should do the dating app thing. It’ll be overwhelming for someone as pretty as you.”

“You use them,” I point out.

Her expression makes it clear she thinks I’m teasing her. I want to haul her up onto the copier and prove my point. Her ass would press against the glass, the bright light would scan past. I’d laminate the copies and hang them up in my shower.

“It’s different,” she says as she sighs, almost sounding sad.

“How?”

“I’m not everyone’s type. Your face is deemed universally good-looking.”