Chapter 8
“Holy arm porn!” Emma held out her laptop. “You need to see this.”
“You’re interrupting Gilmore Girls to look at profiles?” Perched in the armchair beside the worn, brown leather sofa, Nicole tossed a piece of popcorn at Emma.
I need a new Saturday night plan, Lucy thought. But she reached across the couch and took the laptop from her friend’s outstretched arms. After two birthday parties, Lucy wasn’t up for a night out. She’d rather indulge in a Gilmore Girls marathon with her friends.
And arm porn.
She studied the picture. The profile shot cut off the guy’s head and everything below the waist. But the sculpted lines of his bicep left her wishing she could reach through the computer and feel his skin. This mystery man’s flexed muscles could inspire serious fantasies. Strong arms lifting her, holding her close, pressing her against a wall, kissing her as if he’d never let go, would never want to let go. She wouldn’t want to release him either. Her fingers would dig into his toned biceps.
Just like the other day, in the storage closet. Only this time, it wouldn’t stop with a single kiss.
“No, no, no,” she muttered. She would not indulge in another Jared Mitchell fantasy.
“Don’t be so quick to reject him,” Emma scolded. “He hits almost all the marks.”
“I don’t have a Fated for Love account,” Lucy murmured scanning the unfamiliar webpage layout.
“I opened one for you,” Emma said easily. “Now, I don’t think you should judge a man entirely by his arms, but—”
“Axe murders probably have great arms,” Nicole said. “From lifting their murder weapons.”
“Shut up, Miss Sunshine.” Emma offered Nicole a chilling look.
“You know I’m right.” Nicole slid off the chair, made her way around the coffee table, and claimed the empty couch space. She stared at the scene over Lucy’s shoulder. “This guy has axe murderer written all over him.”
“She’s right.” Lucy looked up and gave Emma a pointed look. “I’ve scanned through all of his photos. Not a single shot of his face. And the one of him with the other girl? It’s weird. They don’t look like they know each other. She’s looking at the camera, but he’s staring out at the ocean.”
Emma plucked the TV remote off the coffee table and hit pause on Rory Gilmore. “Forget about the pictures for a minute,” she said. “Read what he wrote. Not the part about him. That makes him sound like every other suit working in an office. Although based on this, I think he might run the company. But never mind that. Scroll down to the ‘What I’m Looking For’ section.”
“Read it out loud,” Nicole demanded as she rifled through the nearly empty popcorn bowl.
“Passion,” Lucy began.
Nicole rolled her eyes. “He’s an axe murderer who wants to get laid.”
“A passion for work,” Lucy continued. “For life. For taking risks. For building a family. One day. Before we get there, I’m looking for long walks on the beach, shared jokes, romantic dinners, and last-minute getaways. I’m looking for that spark of magic that ignites desire. I want to find the one woman I can’t walk away from.”
Lucy glanced up from the screen. Her heart rate kicked up a notch, as if she’d run up a flight of stairs in heels. She glanced up at the top of the profile and read the name. Philip Ryder’s desire for passion matched hers. He’d spelled it out right there in his profile.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“He probably copied that out of Cosmo,” Nicole said. “One meal with Mr. Arm Porn, and you’ll discover his need for “passion” is linked to his desire for a slim, pretty girl with big boobs in his bed.”
“Or he’s the real deal,” Emma said. “There’s only one way to find out. Hit the heart button on his profile and send him a message. Wait and see if he responds.”
Lucy clicked on the heart, and a message box appeared. Fingers hovering over the keyboard, she stared at the blinking cursor. “What do I write? ‘I like your passion?’ That sounds wrong. And a little dirty.”
Emma closed her eyes. “Risk number one: writing this message.”
Lucy nodded and typed. “Risk number two: meeting in person. But first I need another picture. One that tells me more about you. I want to make sure our ‘passions’ match. Your Daring New Friend, Lucy.”
She reread the message one more time and hit send. “There. It’s done.”
“If he sends you a dick pic,” Nicole began.
“I’ll know I avoided another disaster date.” Lucy closed the computer.