Sandy - Vested Interest

I pursed my lips. “Colin told me he had a date at Tinder last week. He has mentioned that place a couple of times since his girlfriend dumped him. I assumed Tinder was a restaurant he was meeting them at. I suppose I assumed wrong?”

The girls dissolved into laughter. Becca wiped her eyes. “You did. Tinder isn’t a restaurant.”

“It’s one of these dating apps?”

“Well, it’s not for, ah, dating, Sandy. It’s more for, um, hookups,” she explained, trying to hide her amusement.

“Hookups,” I repeated slowly. I widened my eyes in shock. “Hookups? Are you telling me Colin is having casual sex with strange women?”

“Quite possibly.” Emmy smirked. “Not sure how casual, of course.”

“Well, that little…scamp.” I shook my head. “I hope he’s being safe. I’ll have to ask him. Or perhaps I’ll save us both the embarrassment and simply buy him a box of condoms as a reminder.”

This caused more laughter.

“I’m not particularly interested in sex with a stranger, girls.”

“We know that,” Emmy assured me. “But maybe just meeting some nice men? At least trying?”

Becca leaned forward, earnest. “Even if you find someone to be friends with. Go out to dinner with—or a movie. You always loved to dance. Wouldn’t it be nice to go with someone? That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”

I mulled over her words. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. But I have no idea how to do that dating app thing.”

Liv pulled her laptop from her bag and handed it to Becca. “But we do.”

I sighed as I watched Becca’s fingers fly over the keys. I wondered what I had just gotten myself in to.

And I knew, without a doubt, this had been their plan all along.Dinner at Bentley’s was, as usual, wonderful. I was able to spend time with Addi, feeding her, having cuddles, her little body warm and soft in my arms. I left not long after dinner, insisting I was too tired for their movie marathon. Frank, Bentley’s driver, took me home—all the boys had been drinking, so Bentley had him on standby to take everyone home safely. There were hugs and kisses all around when I left. The girls never mentioned the dating app, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t sure how the boys would react to the news, and I hadn’t yet decided to go ahead with the idea.

Late Sunday afternoon, I sat in front of my laptop, looking over the profile Becca had created for me. She insisted she had done thorough research on the various “apps,” as she called them, and that Mature Matchups had a good reputation, didn’t promote promiscuity, and many of the profiles on the site were people like me—looking for someone to socialize with, a friend to have dinner, see a movie, “hang out,” as she called it.

“No hookups?” I asked, straight-faced.

She bit her lip. “Um…”

I patted her hand with a grin. “Teasing.”

“If romance enters the picture, then it does,” she assured me. “If not, having a friend to go out with isn’t a bad thing, is it?”

I had to admit she was right. When Max became ill, our social life had changed—not that it was ever the same as other couples. We were very close and enjoyed each other’s company. With the huge age difference between us, we were mostly shunned when we were first married so we had relied on each other for everything. Max was my best friend, shopping partner, confidant, and lover—all rolled into one. Over the years, we made some couple friends, but with his busy career and schedule, those times were limited. I was fine with it—I had been a bit of a loner, preferring reading and taking courses over other, more social activities. My husband and grandkids—especially Colin—kept me busy, and my life, once I met the BAM boys and Bentley opened his company, had revolved around them. Now, my nights and weekends once spent with Max, were long and empty at times.

Perhaps a friend wouldn’t be such a bad thing. If I went into this idea seeking companionship instead of a romantic interest, I might find someone whose company I would enjoy. Someone who could help make me feel a little less lonely.

I scanned the profile once again. It was exactly as Becca promised. A simple picture, a brief bio, and the language was correct. Nothing suggesting anything except looking to meet someone my age with similar interests to be friends. It was perfect.

Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to press the “activate” button on the screen.

I shook my head. I was being silly. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And the girls had gone to so much effort and assured me unless I gave out the information, the profile was private, and I could delete it at any time. Before I could change my mind, I clicked the button, then shut the lid and hurried away from my desk as if the machine itself were going to start spitting out names of “matches.”