Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“A what?” I feel my brow pucker.
“Meeting Mrs. Palm and her five lovely daughters.” Holding up his left hand, he wiggles his fingers before making a cylinder of them and, well, you know.
“Ohh.” The graphic gesture totally makes sense.
“So a cheeky wanker is someone who’s having a cheeky wank?”
“No, that one is more like a mild insult. Like someone is taking the piss, annoying you? Like calling someone a jerk-off, but less venomous.”
“Whit, you are so educational. I know oyu said you’d teach me, but…”
This time, the amusement that flitters across his face is a mite darker. “Tip of the iceberg, little fly. Tip of the iceberg.”
I dip my head to my lap and the loose thread again. “Flies are so…”
“‘So handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes.’”
“Do you know the whole poem?” I ask softly.
“I might’ve googled it recently,” he admits with a touch of amusement.
Danger. Danger! This is the kind of man a girl could easily fall for.
“Speaking of the internet,” I say with a forced brightness as pull out my phone, “what are the popular dating apps in London?”
“And you suppose I’d know.” His tone is suddenly gruff.
“Come on, Whit. You’re not a monk. The girl you were expecting a few weeks ago when I turned up didn’t just materialize. She came from somewhere.”
“Not a dating app.” The phrase ‘brooks no opposition’ springs to mind. “I take it that means you haven’t changed your mind.” Something unpleasant flits over his face, but a passive mask soon resumes.
“About dating?” Serious about making you think I am, anyway. I need to put more thought into this than letting knee-jerk ridiculousness spill from my mouth. Why the hell did I think asking would help?
“Forget it,” he mutters, grumpy CEO Whit taking over.
I wish I could forget. I wish I could take myself back to the moment I realized Whit deserved to do better because then I’d make sure to gloss over it. I’d think of only me and be greedy about my fill.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to change my mind. That’s why I asked about dating apps,” I say calmly. Much calmer than I feel, anyway. It strikes me that I’m going to need to put more effort into my little ruse than I anticipated. It’s not like I have to date. I can just pretend. I’ll just download an app or two. Whit won’t need to know I’m swiping left (or is it right for refusal?) all the time. Because really, who wants to date in real life? Only masochists and people who can take a risk on love.
“So where do you meet the women you…”
“Fuck?” he finishes for me, all hard fricatives. “Nowhere suitable for you, little fly.”
Way to point out I’m one of the training-wheel brigade. “Too niche for my tastes, huh?”
“Have you ever used dating apps before?”
“Have you?”
“You do know there isn’t an app to meet people as friends, that most people out there are looking to hook up? Which you won’t need,” he adds with a sharp look my way.
“That might be the rule, but there are always exceptions to every rule.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Those looking for that special unicorn also known as the one.”
“There has to be more than that,” I mutter, swiping Google open as I begin to type.
Dating apps in London for Friendship.
“What about Feeld?” I announce, bringing up an article about the app.
“That’s mostly couples looking for a casual third.”
“How do you know that?” He slides me a look that’s hard to decipher. “But it has a tag for friendship,” I add defensively.
“I’m sure I read somewhere that it was created by a couple looking to introduce others into their sexual experiences. I might be wrong,” he adds with the confidence of someone who knows they aren’t. “You can do your own due diligence, I’m sure.”
I scan the text and, yup. I find something to that effect in the sales pitch. “What about Hinge?” I say, flicking back to Google and picking the second from my search.
“A bit like Tinder.” My brows pinch, and my mouth falls open, ready to protest when he adds, “Sign up. See how many people you match with, people who are looking for friendship and not a casual fuck.”
“Fine.” I go back to my search. “Bumble BFF,” I announce excitedly. “It says a simplified way to make meaningful connections—I can date women!”
“Women?” he says in that tone.
“Urgh! For friendship. For coffee dates and things.” On second thought, maybe I should stick to fictitious men. I don’t want him getting too comfortable. “Although, in my experience, women can be harder to befriend.”
“They’re certainly hard to fathom,” he mutters.
We leave the conversation there, the rest of our journey to Edgeware silent, slightly tense, and very awkward.
“What in the world…” Before we get to the red-bricked street I currently call home, we’re flagged to a stop by a policeman. The road ahead is cordoned off with blue tape. Beyond it stands a couple of fire trucks, police cars, and people in reflective jackets.