The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(42)

“You have a little phone tripod?” He peered at her setup. “How clever.”

“I didn’t invent it, but it is clever.” She hit record and took a step back. She glanced up at him and then pressed his shoulder, angling his body so they were both visible.

“You know what you’re doing,” he rumbled.

She dropped her hand away from his shoulder, that nice, solid shoulder. Because business first. Pleasure later. “Sometimes.” She fixed a smile on her face for the camera and gave a brief intro, including where they were standing. The bar manager had been kind enough to allow them to do this for free, in exchange for a mention, so she dropped the bar’s name a couple of times.

A few people glanced their way, but this was L.A., and there were more exciting things in the world than two possibly vaguely familiar-looking people talking to a cell phone set up a foot away from them. They’d be left alone.

She looked up at Samson. “Samson, I’m not even sure where to start with you. How long have you been out of the dating game? Years, right?”

“Five years.” There was a shadow of a smile on his face, and she knew they were both thinking of their one night together.

Which they couldn’t. Not now. “Phew. Too long. We gotta get you up to speed. Where to even start with you.”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid I was so awkward I may have come across as a jerk on my last date.”

“I think you were more nervous than anything. Got in your head a little too much about it?”

His cheeks slightly reddened, and it was so cute, she hoped the camera would pick up the color. “Yeah.”

“Everyone’s got nerves or awkwardness on their first date. That’s okay, you can usually recover from those things. Just don’t be a jerk. In fact, let’s start with talking about some general dating no-nos for people. Number one: don’t be an asshole.”

“This seems totally doable.” He patted his pockets. “Should I take notes?”

“Commit my words of wisdom to memory.” She held up a finger. “Okay, second rule, related, but more specific. No dick pics without invitation.” Their target audience was adults, they could be adult.

He choked on his soda. “Yes. I’m on your side, 100 percent.” He looked down his body. “It’s not even that pretty. No one wants that in their texts.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth. His penis was, actually, delightful, and she had firsthand knowledge of that, but she wasn’t about to say that on camera. There were limits. “The prettiness of a dick might be subjective.”

“Breasts. Breasts are universally pretty.” He shook his head, and she was certain his bewildered expression was genuine and not an act. “Penises are floppy and boring and messy looking. God give me the confidence of a man who thinks the sight of his dick will lure all the ladies to the yard.”

This time she allowed herself to laugh and leaned back against the railing, relaxing. She could almost forget the camera was there, which was odd for someone who almost always had their professional mask on when a camera was rolling.

She’d grown up in the age of YouTube. You never knew when you were being recorded, so when you knew you were being recorded, you acted right. “Let’s just say, there might be times when you want your partner to send you a picture of their private bits, because you find it arousing.”

He looked doubtful. “Okay . . .”

“But then it’s not unsolicited. A solicited dick pic is great. Go with God. Send your penises all over town.”

“Send your penis all over town if asked.” He tapped his temple. “Got it.”

“I guess all of this could be shelved under the general advice of don’t be a fuckboy,” she mused. “Unless you’re being upfront and honest about being a fuckboy, and that’s what your partner wants too.”

He squinted. “What’s a fuckboy?”

“What’s . . . a . . . fuckboy.” She tapped her lip. “You don’t know?”

“No. Is it someone who just wants sex?”

“Oh no. You can just want sex and still not be a fuckboy. You can want a relationship and be a fuckboy. Fuckboys are on Matchmaker, on Crush, on every platform.” Though they probably heavily congregate on Swype given the Chief Executive Asshole’s top-down culture of boys will be boys. “But you know, I don’t know if I’ve ever had to give a succinct explanation of what a fuckboy is, and I’m pretty sure the phrase has hugely evolved since it first came into general modern usage.”

Two women passing by cast them amused glances, clearly having heard their conversation. They were both in their early twenties, wore short skirts and tall boots, and were gorgeous enough to be models.

Rhiannon made an abrupt decision and waved at them. “Excuse me.” She gestured at the phone facing her and Samson. “We’re filming for a thing.”

The closest girl, blonde and poured into a red dress, looked unimpressed. “Who isn’t filming in this city?”

“I know, right? Listen, we’re trying to come up with some dating don’ts. Can you give us a description of the worst person you’ve dated or could imagine dating?”

“I’ll stay off camera,” her companion said. She was Black, had a smoothly shaved head, and wore a white leather mini and a crop top. “But that’s an easy one. Someone who sleeps with you once, doesn’t call you the next day, and then hits you up with a ‘got any pics?’ like, two months later.”