“That weeds out the superficial hookup seekers,” River adds, “and studies show that attractiveness is rated higher when a person has an emotional connection to someone already established.” Elisa’s eyes glaze over, and I glare at River. He takes a big breath and tries again. “The funny guy becomes cuter because he can make his girl laugh, and the shy woman is more attractive once she shows how sweet and kind she is.”
At that, Elisa nods. “I do like a man who can make me laugh.” Elisa Montgomery has been single since her husband died twenty years ago, and judging by the utter lack of lines on her face, she hasn’t laughed since.
Maybe she should do the BlindDate questionnaire? I think to myself, never dreaming of suggesting it aloud. “Exactly,” I say instead. “We’ll continue working on increasing memberships, tweaking the AI so matches are even more accurate now that we have a larger sampling, and ensuring that no bugs arise with widespread usage.” I’m making promises to Elisa that I’ve already made to myself a dozen times—more, better, push, succeed.
Lady Elisa gives me a supportive look. “Noah, the app’s making money and growing. I’m satisfied with the current launch.”
Satisfied? That’s not nearly enough, not remotely the description I want from Elisa.
“All in all, good job. Let’s talk about it next month. In the meantime, please excuse me. I have a lunch meeting, and if I’m not out the door in thirty seconds, Tina will be nipping at my heels,” she says good-naturedly.
It’s a polite but clear dismissal, and Riv and I retreat, resisting the urge as I always do to bow at the door as I depart.
Back in River’s office, I jump in with the plan for our next steps.
“So, we need to go over these numbers again, figure out how to get more people to join,” I tell him as Riv sits down at his desk, leaning back and propping his feet on its surface.
He’s chill, fine even after that clusterfuck of a meeting. Too fine, in my opinion, and I let him know that by knocking his feet to the floor. His chair wobbles back and forth, but like a Weeble, he doesn’t fall over, unfortunately. “Chill out. The numbers are good. Lady Elisa was fine with them. Take the win.”
“That wasn’t a win!” River doesn’t get it, my need to compete and to win. My need to succeed.
He didn’t come from where I came from, and while he knows the facts, he doesn’t understand the reality of my past. I don’t think anyone who hasn’t lived through it can.
“Dude, hitting target is literally the definition of a win,” Riv counters. “Just because you wanted to be bigger than Zuckerberg at this point doesn’t mean it’s reasonable. And not everyone has to live up to your crazy-high expectations.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I growl, and Riv reaches down, cupping himself and pretending to jack off.
“Like this? That’s the only kind of action you’re getting these days.” Once he speaks the insult, his look becomes thoughtful. “Maybe that’s the problem. Hit Tinder and get laid, and then you’ll feel better about what we’re doing here with BD.”
I shake my head as I sigh and throw my hands in the air. “Pussy’s not the solution to every problem.”
Riv snorts, pointing an accusing finger my way. “You didn’t even believe that as it was coming off your tongue.”
“I don’t need to get laid. It hasn’t been that long. Now can we focus on what to do?” But trying to get him to focus on something other than my sex life right now is impossible. It’d be easier to take a pb-and-j sandwich from a rabid, starving raccoon.
He hits me with question after question, all coming down to one thing. Exactly how long? I don’t answer, throwing back statistics about the problem at hand, and finally, he begrudgingly gives in, though I know he’ll bring it up again the next chance he gets.
“Fine, what do you propose we do to make the already-good numbers live up to your magical, mythical, and might I mention, self-set, goals?” River asks.
“Glad you finally asked,” I say with a lifted brow. “I was thinking. We did a bunch of market research with the beta version, right?”
“Yeah . . . why?” Riv asks, a little worried. For all the shit I give him, he’s fucking brilliant and knows what I’m going to say already. He just enjoys poking at me to rile me up.
“We need to do live testing too,” I tell him. “Sign up anonymously, go through like we’re regular users and get the full experience. Is the questionnaire too long, too invasive or confusing, and is it asking the right questions? How do the matches feel? What do the profiles look like? The whole thing except the contact and dating part.”
“Damn, Goldilocks. A bit of a choosy beggar, aren’t you? Coming in and insulting someone else’s porridge?” River teases. “You know the psychologists did all that. The coders too. And it’s all been tested repeatedly.”
“I know, but there’s got to be something to improve. It’s not perfect. It never is. We need to find where those improvements can be made. You never know, maybe the bears would’ve been thankful that Goldilocks tweaked their porridge recipe. A spoonful of sugar here, a pat of butter there, ten more seconds on the stovetop, and . . . voila!” I kiss my fingertips and then spread them wide in a chef’s kiss move.
“Fine. But we can do all that tomorrow. It’s time to get out of here. Whoo-hoo!” River pumps his fist, miming pulling the quitting-time horn. “You want to come over for a beer, watch the game?”
“No, I think I’ll stay back awhile, look at the numbers a bit tonight. I’ll let you know in the morning if I find anything specific.”
“Sure. ‘Awhile’, you say,” he says disbelievingly, but he has a point. I work late more often than not. “You’re going to look those figures over at least ten times before you stumble out of here. Let me know if you solve this imaginary problem you’re creating.”
River grabs his wallet from his desk drawer, locks it back up, and then holds the door open for me.
“Goodnight,” I tell him, already two steps toward my office.
“It will be for me. Not sure that’s the case for you, man.”
Back in my own office, I’ve already forgotten about River’s assessment. He’s good at what he does and works hard, but that doesn’t mean I can float along the way he’s comfortable doing. I flash back to the meeting with Lady Elisa today. I want those meetings to be full of rave reviews and shocked awe at my success and for Elisa to have no choice but to reward me with more responsibilities and opportunities.
I pull up the app store on my phone, knowing that most users will choose the mobile option over the computer version of BlindDate. I download the app, using a fresh and anonymous email account on my profile and my middle name as my username. I’ve already got a profile from the beta version, and I want this experience to be exactly what a new-to-the-app user would have, so I become ‘Mark D.’
All right, one hundred questions . . . let’s do this. It’s easier to answer the questions honestly, so ironically, ‘Mark D.’ and ‘Noah Daniels’ have a lot in common, and in less than an hour, I’m done.
I make some notes on the experience, both positive and negative. And now, I wait and see what the AI has in store for me to evaluate the next phase.
Chapter 3
Riley
“Oh, God. I can’t believe you just suggested that,” I whine, taking a gulp of my wine. It really is as good as Eli promised, but I can’t take the time to enjoy it when Arielle is throwing out craziness the way she is. “No way, no how. I am not online dating.”
I look to Eli for support, but he takes a proper sip of his wine and side-eyes Arielle. I get the feeling they’ve already discussed this. Discussed . . . me.
It’s barely a quarter past eight o’clock on a Friday night. I should be out painting the town red. Or yellow, in my case, I suppose. But instead, I’m perfectly happy where I am—at home in my apartment, wearing oversized yellow joggers and a white crop top with a smiling-faced, pink-cheeked sun on the left breast, my two besties sitting on my couch while
I sit cross-legged on a pillow with the sweetest, cutest dog in the history of the canine species in my lap.
“Raffy, tell Auntie Arielle she’s crazy, totally loony toons, and that your mama is not going to date some random dude from the internet.” I hold Raffy’s fuzzy, fluffy head up, moving his chin to make it look like he’s talking while I do my best to throw my voice despite the fact that I have zero ventriloquism skills. “Rrruf, no interweb, hoomans. Much weird, no normal. Extra cronchy.”
Arielle raises one brow sharply, glaring at me. “Are you seriously implying that you are normal right now?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I studiously avoid her gaze, choosing to look around my apartment. Eli might be disappointed in me for not buying a house, but I love this place. It’s a completely white backdrop for all my favorite things—yellow pillows, poster prints of inspirational quotes, fluffy blankets in white and yellow gingham checks, and all sorts of sun trinkets I’ve bought or my followers have sent me.
Arielle snaps her fingers, demanding my attention. “You said you were ready. Remember the five hundred thousand followers?”
Eli pipes up, “Five hundred and one thousand now.”
“You”—I meet his eyes with no problem— “are no longer my best friend. Get out, but leave the wine.” I snuggle my wine glass to my chest protectively as though he’ll snatch it from me.
Eli stands, and at first, I think he’s actually going to leave despite the fact that I was obviously joking. But instead of heading for the door, he reaches to the far side of the charcuterie board for a small sausage.
Holding it up lengthwise between his thumb and index finger, he suggests, “If this is the only sausage you’re getting, and we all know it is, you should listen to Arielle. She’s got your best interests at heart, and you know that too.”
I’m not one to pout, but I consider letting my lip pop out anyway to see if it’d get me out of this mess. I said I’d date, but I was thinking more along the lines of meeting a cute guy at the farmer’s market.
But when Raffy, that disloyal salt and pepper miniature Schnauzer of mine, hops out of my lap to make a run for the snack and Eli pops the whole baby sausage in his mouth and starts chewing, I realize that maybe he’s right. Maybe they’re both right.
Raffy runs around the coffee table with a case of the zoomies, hoping that his display will warrant one of us giving him a treat. If anything, I’d like to give him a chill pill. “Raffy! Sit!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Arielle sighs. “Raffy, here, boy!” The sausage in her hand gets my dog’s attention, and he sits, pretty as a picture, at Arielle’s feet. “Tell your momma it’s fine. Everyone does it . . . online dating, I mean. Tell her. Speak!”
Raffy barks for Arielle and she feeds him the yummy treat.
“See, even Raffy agrees.”
I know when I’ve been beaten. And truth be told, I’m intrigued. I get asked out, but I never know if it’s because I’m me or because I’m Riley Sunshine. And I quit counting the number of weird private messages I got ages ago. Maybe this is a way to date?
“There’s still the whole ‘Riley Sunshine’ problem,” I tell them, wiggling my fingers under my chin in my salute. I swear I don’t usually talk about myself in the third-person, and my online persona is truly me, but it’s me amped up a bit. I mean, nobody wants to see me with a crazy bedhead, stained T-shirts from my college days, and crying over Buffy’s having to decide between Angel or Spike as if I don’t know what happens from watching the reruns multiple times from beginning to series’ end.
“You think I didn’t think of that?” Arielle challenges. Eli smirks, and I wonder what she’s got up her sleeve. “Do you even talk to River?”
“Huh?” I say dumbly. I mean, Arielle obviously knows who my brother is, and I talk about him whenever a story comes up that needs to be shared, but what is she talking about?
“BlindDate,” she informs me. “Our brothers’ dating app?”
Oh, that.
Briar Rose is one of those small, big towns. Everyone doesn’t know everyone, and there are no lemonade stands on the sidewalks or anything like that. But it also doesn’t take Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon to connect someone to someone else. At most, it’d take two or three. For example, Arielle and me, and our brothers.
Arielle and I met at the mall with The Crew. Our brothers met in school. Neither particularly remarkable in and of itself, but a bit of a ‘small world’ coincidence. Still, we don’t hang out or anything. River’s great and all, but he’s a bit protective of me, even though I don’t need it, especially with Arielle at my side. And Arielle and her brother, Noah, are too alike to get along for more than a few minutes, though they love each other fiercely. That’s how they do everything—bold, brash, and bossy.
“BlindDate,” I repeat, connecting the dots in Arielle’s plan. “The dating app with no photos? That works for me to stay anonymous, but what if Freddy Krueger shows up?”
Arielle giggles. “Can’t say that isn’t a possibility, but would you really walk away if he was ugly but at the same time was extra-sweet? You know what they say, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
“Now you’re making me sound like an asshole,” I joke. “Fine, walk me through it,” I tell her, admitting defeat because I know when I’ve lost.
Raffy hears one of the few words he knows—walk—and goes crazy, jumping around and howling. He runs toward the door, looking at his leash hanging from a hook on the wall as if he needs to show me where it is. Then he runs back to me, nudging at my knee and barking directly at me. You said it, now get up and let’s goooo! Walk, walk, walk, we’re going on a walk.
“Raffy, I didn’t mean us, you silly dog. I was talking to Auntie Arielle.” I grab ahold of him, pulling him into my lap and rubbing his belly in apology. Within a few seconds, his mind has gone blank, his tongue lolling out in belly rub bliss. If only humans were that easy, the world would be a better place. “Crisis averted, but let’s get this over with.”
“There’s the spirit,” Eli says dryly.
“Okay, let’s see here . . .” Arielle picks up my tablet from the table beside her. “First you. We’ll make a trash email account and give you an anonymous name. Preferences on that? You’re going to have explain it if you actually meet someone.”
I think for a moment. “Rachel.” It’s my mother’s name and popped into my head as similar enough to Riley that I can explain it away. Arielle clicks around a bit on the tablet.
“We’ll input all the information you want the robot matchmaker to know, physical attributes, your likes, hobbies and dislikes, and then what you want in your ideal man.”
"Robot matchmaker?” I say beneath furrowed brows.
“Artificial intelligence, algorithm, robot matchmaker . . . same things.” Arielle waves a hand dismissively.
“And this robot does what with all this information?” I really need to ask River about his work more often.
“Matches you up with possible contenders. Just make sure to bring your I.D. to meet your guy so authorities can identify your body when your date ends up going south,” Arielle jokes.
“Arielle!” I protest, waving my glass at her and dangerously coming close to sloshing wine out on the tablet. “We’re not even two minutes in and you’re already giving me cold feet!”
“She’s kidding. Relax!” Eli tells me. “Besides, if you do connect with someone and want to meet them, make the first meeting at a public place like a bookstore or coffee shop before going on an official date for obvious safety reasons. And no dicking on the first date. Not because it’s slutty but because you don’t want some dude knowing where you live, and you definitely don’t want to go to his place and end up in his dungeon of pain and pleasure. I should know. There was this one time—”
“Not helping,” Arielle says out of the side of her mouth, and Eli shrugs, going back in for another sausage and following it up with a slice of cheese.
I sit back, processing everyth
ing. As skeptical as I am, I can’t really find any downsides to at least trying this thing out. I mean, sure, it might match me up with Freddy Krueger and ruin my dreams for the foreseeable future or a cult leader who wants me to join him in some Stepford Wives situation. But on the other hand, I could meet Mr. Right. Or Mr. Right Now.
The biggest downside I can think of is the potential time I could end up wasting. And it’s not like I don’t waste time flipping through other people’s silly dance videos, cute dog memes, and style vlogs from countries I’ve never been to. So what’s a few more wasted minutes?
If that happens, I’ll just delete the app and forget about it and move on. There’s a tiny part of me, the part that yearns for romance, that at least wants to give it a try to see what pans out.
“Okay!” I say finally, feeling a little thrill of hope. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!”
Arielle smiles, and before I can change my mind, she loads the sign-up form on the tablet screen.
We go through the next few steps, filling out my age, height, eye color, my favorite hobbies, and likes and dislikes, until we get to the real important stuff.
“Okay, how would you like him to look physically?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Hmm,” I say, raising my eyes to the ceiling. “You know me, I love a tall man. I guess at least six feet?”
Eli laughs, drawing both Arielle’s and my attention. “Every guy from five-nine on says they’re six feet because women have this height obsession, like five-eleven is so much shorter than six feet even. We all know it’s only because you think dick size is related to height. Newsflash, that’s not always true. I’ve seen dudes who are five-five in boots with dicks the size of my arm, and big, burly six-five guys who wish they were as big as that sausage.” He lifts his chin toward the last tiny sausage on the charcuterie board, making Arielle and me frown.
The Blind Date Page 3
