Quadruplets Make Six

‘To the men who have stopped by.’

A letter. Okay. I could get behind this. Write it like a letter.

‘To the men who have stopped by. Hello. My name’s Libby.’

Now what?

I groaned, then flopped my head back onto the couch cushions. What in the world was I supposed to say about myself? Hello, my name’s Libby and I live in a small apartment with my cat, Mozart? But don’t worry, I’m not some crazy cat lady!?

This was a bad idea.

My phone vibrated in my hand with a message from someone. I furrowed my brow as I opened it, navigating away from the letter of pathetic nuance I was writing to all of the men who wouldn’t stop by my profile. I clicked on his profile and thought he was pretty handsome, so I navigated back to his message.

But once I read what he wrote, I was no longer interested.

‘Hey there, Libby. Got anymore pics?’

Rolling my eyes, I went back to my profile. I finished typing up a little bit about myself, including what I did for work and some of the hobbies I enjoyed. Reading. Taking long walks. Drinking way too much tea. There was no point in trying to frame it any other way. If a guy wanted to cruise through my profile, he might as well get a taste of the boring lifestyle I led.

Within the first half hour, I received dozens of messages from men. And while they all seemed promising, it all delved into the same topic after the first few messages.

Sex.

Eventually, all they wanted to talk about was sex.

‘Got any pics?’

‘Hell of a rack you got.’

‘You like a little age play?’

‘I’ll buy you dinner if you let me show you the things I can do to you.’

I was seconds away from deleting the very profile I had set up when another message came through. I ignored it and navigated to my settings, trying to figure out how to get rid of this damn thing.

But it was his second message that caught my eye.

“Sorry if that was cheesy. It’s a line from my favorite poem.”

Furrowing my brow, I opened up the message. My eyes scanned the first one he sent me as a small smile bloomed across my cheeks. I recognized the poem. I actually had the book sitting on my bookshelf.

“I will not play tug o’ war. I’d rather play hug o’ war. Where everyone hugs instead of tugs. Where everyone giggles and rolls on the rug. Where everyone kisses and everyone grins. And everyone cuddles… and everyone wins.”

“Shel Silverstein,” I said. “I’ve got that book on my bookshelf.”

“Where The Sidewalk Ends,” the man said. “It’s a good book.”

“What else do you read?” he asked.

“Anything I can get my hands on. I’ve got some biographies and some crime novels. A couple of James Patterson books and some Nora Roberts.”

“Reading anything currently?” he asked.

“Yes, actually. The Wheel Of Time series. It’s a high fantasy story.”

“I wish I had the time to read things like that. Fantasy has always tickled my pleasure, but I simply don’t have the time to read like I used to.”

“Why not?” I asked. “What keeps you so busy?”