Catching my breath as I leaned against the railing, I opened the message.
Letter Topic: Let’s Cut the Shit.
Dear Ryan,
We’ve been sending letters through this app for way too long, and we have yet to meet in person. (Are you hiding something?)
Since I’m currently single after my last disaster of a breakup. I’m looking for someone new to date—someone I can be with in person and not online.
Please describe yourself so that I can know if you’re worth my time. I’m 5’5 with hazel brown eyes. Long, dark brown and curly hair. I’m also fit and pretty tight down there, if you catch my drift. (I can send you my picture if you send me yours, but take my best friend’s word for it: I’m super sexy and quite the catch.)
Lightning round:
Have you ever committed a felony?
Are you planning to ask me for any money down the line?
Do you want to continue just talking to me online?
Tell me these things now.
Bella
OH. MY. GOD…
I looked over at Daniella as she rolled onto the floor laughing, and debated whether this was worthy of a strangle or first-degree murder.
I started typing a new letter to Ryan—letting him know that these weren’t my words, but before I could finish typing it, he sent me a response.
Letter Topic: Re: Let’s Cut the Shit.
Dear Bella,
The beauty of this app is that it’s implied that we don’t want to meet. We’ve also discussed this on a number of occasions, and we’ve both agreed that our friendship is better left digital. (No. I have nothing to hide.)
I do know that you’re single, and I’m sure that you can easily find a new boyfriend on Tinder—the same place where you found your last three.
I don’t need to know what you look like to send you letters, but good to know that your pussy is “tight.” Then again, since you asked: I’m 6’5’ with blue eyes. I work out every day for at least three hours if you catch my drift.
You don’t need to send me your picture, as I won’t send you mine. I’ll take your best friend’s word for it, and you can take my employees’ secret ‘Sexiest Man in the Office’ poll for the word as to what I look like.
No, I’ve never committed a felony, and I would never need to ask anyone for any money. Trust me.
Yes, I would like to keep ‘just talking’ to you. That’s our original agreement, and it will always remain that way.
I take it that Daniella wrote this letter while she had your phone at her gallery today?
Write me back whenever she returns it.
Ryan
PS—I refuse to believe that we share the same definition of “fit” since you’ve never once mentioned working out a gym… So, even if your pussy is tight, I doubt your stamina is anywhere near as high as mine.
PSS—It’s almost the end of another week, and your book still isn’t published…
I set down my phone and decided that strangling her was the best option.
FOUR Ryan/Dane
“If I could get away with murder, I’m telling you right now that my ex-wife would be at the top of my hit list.” My best friend, Michael, slid me a beer on Monday night.
He’d lured me here with the promise of football and beer, but the television still wasn’t on, and he’d started ranting the moment I stepped into his home.
Not only that, but all six of his toddlers—three sets of twin boys, were running around and screaming in the other room.
This is what I get for coming here.
“Who would be at the top of your hit list?” he asked.
“You if you continue inviting me over here and starting every conversation with this shit,” I said. “Where is the remote?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “This isn’t much of a guys’ night at all, is it?”
It hasn’t been for years. “Not at all.”
“Well, let me see if I can make it up to you by setting you up on a blind date with another one of my colleagues.”
“I’d rather you find the remote.”
“In a second,” he said, pulling out his phone. “In a second.”
I stood up and decided to search for it on my own. I knew that whoever he tried to set me up with this time would be an automatic hell no.
I was still recovering from the last three disasters whom I’d come to refer to as Miss ‘I Like to Lick Butt Plugs,’ Miss ‘I’m a Needy Psychopath,’ and Miss ‘Can I Call You Daddy?’
He’d relished in my disaster stories, all while promising that the next one would be better. He felt so damn compelled to help me find someone due to his suffocating sense of guilt.
Michael was the very reason why I moved to Spokane in the first place.
We were both miserable in Florida while going through divorces at the same time, and after he left and swore that the West Coast was better, I followed suit. He vowed to show me all the perks of the single life in this city, said that we’d both be able to live out our new bachelor dreams, but six months after I arrived, he fell in love and got married soon after.
I’d been wading the waters of single-life all alone ever since.
Even though I was now looking for something a bit more serious, I had yet to meet a woman who made me want to go past the first date.
“I know that you want someone on your level, but it’s going to be very hard to find another multi-millionaire,” he said, still scrolling on his phone. “I do know a Linda and a Jamie who are very attractive and hardworking. They are the type of women you like.”
“Right now, I’d like to see the first half of the football game.” I tuned him out and continued looking, hoping the remote would turn up and save me
