Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 92336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“They ask that?”
“No.”
“Jerk.” I smiled.
Damien continued entering my information. “Hair…blonde. Eyes…blue. Okay, now they’re asking personality questions. Hobbies and interests?”
“Reading…”
“Of course. Reading ménage!” After typing that in, he tapped on the keys to delete the last part. “Okay. Reading. Anything else?”
“Working with children, taking walks, and travel.”
We continued going down the line as I tried to make myself sound as least boring as possible. The last question was the most superficial one.
“How would you rate yourself on a scale of physical attractiveness from one to ten?
“I can’t rate myself.”
“Ten,” he quickly answered.
“Ten?”
“Yes.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No, I’m not. But here’s the thing…even if you don’t think you’re a ten, you should still put down ten, because that exudes confidence. Confidence is sexy. But in your case, you really are a ten. You’re beyond beautiful.”
Feeling like I was melting into my seat, I said, “Thank you.”
“You’re lucky that’s the case, too. It helps balance out the crazy.” He winked.
“Thanks,” I laughed then cleared my throat. “What next?”
“Your profile is done. We just need to upload a picture. Do you have one in your phone you want to use?”
I sifted through the photos, and to my surprise, I hadn’t taken one good picture of myself alone in the past six months. All of the decent shots, where I was smiling or made up, were with Elec.
“I like this one, but he’s in it.” I said, handing him the phone.
“That’s him?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” He scratched his chin as he examined the photo then said, “You could do better. Anyway, I’ll crop him out.”
“Can you?”
“Yeah. It’s easy.” Damien started messing around with it. “Okay. Done. See?” He turned the phone toward me. “You’d never know he was there except for that piece of black. It looks like a sweater over your shoulder.”
It gave me a strange sense of satisfaction that Elec had been reduced to a mere garment of clothing.
“So what do we do now?”
“Now you have to figure out how to use it. I’ll create an account if you want, and we can pretend to connect, so you can see how it works.”
Pretend to connect. Was I a fool for thinking we were somehow already connecting?
“That would be good. So I don’t make a fool out of myself later.”
“Well, that very well may still happen.”
Watching Damien as he input information about himself, I noticed he often licked the side of his mouth whenever he concentrated. Each time his tongue moved, I felt a tingle run through me.
I definitely wouldn’t mind licking that spot for him.
He flipped the computer toward me. “Okay. I just made both of our accounts active. It’s a free trial for thirty days. After that, it’s forty-five dollars a month. You use this computer. I’ll use my iPad.”
A notification popped up on my screen. “Did you just poke me?”
“No.”
“Someone poked me!”
“Believe me. You’d know it if I poked you.”
“Seriously. Someone just poked me.”
“Ignore him.”
“Why? I see him now. His name is Jonathan. He’s not that bad looking.”
“You literally just became active a few seconds ago. He couldn’t have had time to read your entire profile. He’s just poking you because you’re pretty. He only wants one thing…to fuck you. Stay away from him. I’m going to send you a request to chat.”
A picture of Damien popped up on the screen. It was taken in his bathroom. It was a shockingly good selfie where the light happened to be shining at just the right angle into his eyes, making them appear like they were glowing. He was beautiful.
“I just accepted your request.”
Damien: Hi.
Chelsea: Hi.
Damien: You’re very pretty.
Chelsea: You’re not so bad yourself.
He peeked over my computer. “Don’t return his compliment so quickly. You already have the upper hand. You don’t need to kiss his ass, especially with someone who starts off so corny.”
Chelsea: I take that back. You’re hideous.
Damien: This chat thing is kind of annoying, isn’t it? Can I have your phone number so that we can talk?
Chelsea: Sure. It’s 95-
He stopped me. “Don’t give him your number yet. He could be a psychopath. You don’t want him having your personal information.”
I chuckled. “I think he is a psychopath.”
Chelsea: Sorry, my pimp says I can’t give you my number just yet.
Damien: Maybe we can meet up, then? I could pick you up.
Chelsea: Actually I’d prefer to meet you somewhere.
“Good girl. You didn’t fall for my trap.”
Damien: Sure. How about the restaurant inside the Westerly Hotel?
Chelsea: That would be okay.
He put his iPad down in frustration. “No. You choose the place to meet. You don’t know what his motives are in getting you inside a hotel. He could plan to slip something in your drink and take you upstairs or some shit. Always choose the location.”
Chelsea: On second thought, I’d prefer a different place.
Damien: You just tell me where.
Chelsea: How about the Starbucks on Powell Street downtown?