Matched

Then she turns to me. "Don't get drunk. I have someone I want you

to meet."

"What? Don't tell me you've matched me with someone, too. I just filled out the questionnaire again—"

"I have and she'll be here soon, so stay sober, okay? I don't want you too wild."

"Who is it?" I ask, curious but, at the same time, unable to take my eyes off Evan, who's leaning closer to India. She's not backing away, so that means she actually likes him.

"Her name is Heather, and she's a former bathing suit model. You'll love her."

I frown. Bathing suit model? This is the match Marina's app has picked for me?

"What does she do now?"

Marina smiles up at me. "She's a beautician. She specializes in color. You know, the new trend in rainbow hair color. She works miracles, or so her client testimonials say."

"And you think I'd be interested in a beautician?"

Marina laughs. "I think you'll be interested when you see her. She's tall and hot. Any man would be glad to be matched with her."

To change subjects, I ask about India's date.

"Who's this man-bun musketeer you matched India with?"

"He's a vegan," Marian says, like that's something great.

"Vegan? India loves meat."

"He's omnivore-tolerant.

"What's his dissertation topic?" I ask, although I really don't give a shit.

"I think it's the political economy of capitalist imperialism or something."

"Ha!" I shake my head. "India's a capitalist. Another totally wrong pick for her, Marina. I think you better give up on the matchmaking app if this is what it comes up with."

"Opposites attract," she replies, smiling widely. "A little friction gets the blood pumping. Speaking of getting blood pumping, he does Bikram yoga. That's hot yoga, in case you didn't know. It gets people all sweaty."

"India runs. She doesn't do yoga."

"She always wanted to start. Can't you see him helping her with her poses?" Marina says, wagging her eyebrows in a most disgusting way. "She'll get a great workout with him."

That almost makes me crazy. I can't help but imagine Man Bun bending India over a desk at the university and fucking her from behind, with pictures of Lenin on the wall behind them.

Just when I'm going to lambaste Marina over her choice for India, her face lights up and she points to the entry.

"Oh, look who's here. Heather!"

Marina goes over to the front door where a tall bleached-blonde woman stands, looking lost. I swear she looks like Daryl Hannah from Splash! with hair that is practically down to her waist and all crimped. She's wearing something tight and short and flowery, exposing legs that go on and on, and strappy sandals on her feet. Two half-cantaloupe breasts peek out from under a scoop neckline.

She smiles when she sees Marina and waves, then brightens up even more when she sees me. Her eyes move up and down over my body like she wants to eat me.

In truth, all I want to do is make a break for it, because I'm already bored imagining having to talk to her.

Make no mistake, if we were at a bar and I was a little drunk and she was a little interested, I'd be all over her. We'd be in the bathroom and she'd be sucking me off with those plumped-up lips, or we'd go home together and I'd fuck her brains out, but for some reason, I don't feel it tonight. She looks like cake frosting or cotton candy, with the streaks of pink and blue in her hair. Like if you fucked her, you'd need to eat something meaty to get the cloying sweetness out of your mouth.

I paste on a smile when Marina takes Heather's hand and pulls her over in my direction. I take in a deep breath and glance over to where Man Bun and India are busy talking, their heads together. India looks amused and is all smiles, but she glances over in my direction and raises her eyebrows meaningfully.