So, being that she was nerd numero uno even on her own list, she had a hard time finding a guy who she thought could overlook her geekiness and her awkwardness and pull out all the stops to impress a bunch of bimbos who probably hadn’t changed at all in ten years.
Why am I even considering going?
Ash sighed and went back to flicking through profiles. They were all starting to blend together. Each one was progressively worse than the last. Or maybe that was just her hopes degrading into a steaming pile of cute emoji looking dung, because it sure as hell wasn’t her standards lowering. Okay, so maybe it was the classic, it’s not you, it’s me, thing.
There wasn’t really anything wrong with all those profiles she’d passed over. Most of the guys were good looking, at the very least. They just weren’t for her. She wasn’t worried about their acting capabilities. She was worried about her own. She wasn’t exactly the fake it until you make it kind of girl.
It would have helped her cause if her mother hadn’t picked one of those boy names for her. Unisex. The kind of thing that was twenty years ahead of a time when it was fashionable to give a baby the weirdest possible name and have people hum and haw over the originality of it. She had a weird name and it cursed her for life.
Since her eyes were blurry and had long ago hit the mark where it felt like they’d been on the receiving end of a bad science experiment, Ash hit the trackpad on the laptop. She meant to navigate to the top right hand corner where the menu was, to sign out of her account for the foreseeable future, which probably meant until panic about the reunion got the best of her and her fruitless search resumed the following night, but instead she hit the down arrow on the page and suddenly found herself staring into a set of piercing blue eyes.
CHAPTER 2
Ash
“Oh, helloooooooooo.” Slappy didn’t respond to her breathless words. Of course, he didn’t.
Suddenly she was wide awake, and her grainy eyes cleared up just fine. She sat up straighter and brought the already too bright laptop closer to her face. She’d spent enough time on it that she’d probably cut her life short by a few years, but hell, what were a few more minutes? She’d willingly give up not making it to ninety just to stare at that profile for a little while longer. His profile.
“Mr. Nightshadow36. What do you think of that, Slappy?” No response.
Yes. That really was his profile name.
His face was like a vortex. Not a ten. She’d never be able to land a ten and whoever she finally chose had to be believable. He was a solid eight though, probably more handsome in real life. It was his eyes that drew her in. Those light blue eyes with the grey speckles. Eyes that probably almost looked green depending on the light. They were captivating.
He was the whole package. Nice dark hair, brushed back. The bone structure of a god or a really good painting, because there was a chance that an artist had painted him into being. His parents were probably good looking. His dad, firm and a little fierce, his mother gorgeous with high cheekbones and full lips. Probably blonde hair and blue eyes. His dad was likely dark haired. It was probably where he got those thick locks from. Oh my god. I must be really tired here.
Still, Ash couldn’t tear her eyes away. Mr. Nightsahdow36 was probably tall. He listed his height in his profile as six one. That was probably accurate.
Her finger hovered over the trackpad. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and clicked down. Nothing happened. The world didn’t explode. Her panties didn’t combust or start smoking. She was still there, in the middle of her bed, not transported to a parallel universe. Okay, calm down. Wow.
Mr. Nightshadow36, thirty-six because of his age, which he listed in his profile, had a few pictures. One of his face, up close, of that beautiful strong brow, the glorious eyes, the lips that were deliciously kissable and probably tasted like strawberries…
Get a grip here. Right now. Ash debated about punishing herself by closing the laptop and forcing herself to get the sleep she needed, but she shrugged off her stupid thoughts and clicked on the next photo. It was obscured, like most, given that the guy probably wanted to maintain some semblance of privacy. She’d done the same. Her lone photo on her profile was a side shot that didn’t even make her look like her. She’d heard that pretty girls received a hundred messages or more a day. She received about ten and none of them were dick pics, so she must have done something right. Nine out of ten were guys fishing to know what she really looked like, so that was also a blatant confirmation.