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not
too pretty to fuck. In fact, as soon as I sat down, I could tell by his
gorgeous complexion that we could never have anything serious for the simple
reason that I wasn’t willing to share as much of my bathroom counter as he
would need for his products.
    “Brad?” I asked, trying not to sound overly hopeful, though it
was a relief when people actually resembled their Tinder photos.
    He stood up from his chair and rose to press his cheek to mine.
“You must be Lucy.”
    “Guilty,” I said, pulling out the café chair across from him.
The sidewalk on the other side of the glass divider was bustling with the lunch
rush.
    “I like the pink,” he said, gesturing to my hair.
    “Really? I was thinking of going purple,” I said, picking up the
menu.
    “Don’t. The pink is hot.”
    I smiled. “So what’s good here?” I asked. “Since you suggested
the place.”
    “They’re known for their wraps.”
    “I see.”
    “I wish I could recommend a few options, but I go for the pulled
pork every time.”
    I nodded. “Creature of habit?”
    “You could say that.” He poured two glasses of water from the
jug on the table. “So what do you do, Lucy?”
    “I’m a hairstylist.”
    “I should’ve guessed.” He pretended to run his hand over his
hair but let it hover slightly above the mousse barrier. “How am I doing?”
    “Great,” I asked. “Your stylist did a good job. Can I ask what
kind of mousse you use?”
    “The one in the blue bottle. Mr. Suave, I think?”
    “You don’t have to be embarrassed to know what kind of mousse
you use in front of me, Brad.”
    He smiled. “What should I be using?”
    “Mahalo’s a good brand. It’s a little more expensive, but they
don’t test on animals.”
    I could tell by his face that he wasn’t going to switch.
    “Are you guys ready to order?” the waitress said, appearing with
a notepad poised at the ready.
    “I’ll have the pulled pork wrap,” Brad said.
    “Make that two,” I added.
    “And to drink?” she asked.
    “Two raspberry lemonades,” Brad said, turning towards me. “Trust
me on this one.”
    I nodded and the waitress disappeared.
    “So what do you do?” I asked.
    “I’m a personal trainer.”
    “Cool,” I said, trying to picture him naked. “Where do you
work?”
    A smile spread across his face. “In the hotel across the
street.” His eyes dropped down to my cleavage before rising back up to my face.
    I looked across the street at the four star hotel. It was the
type that had its own flag over the entrance and men in charge of opening the
doors so no one smudged the spotless glass.
    “Interesting,” I said. “What kind of job perks do you get
working in a swanky place like that?”
    “The right kinds.”
    It felt like I’d known him forever. I glanced at his hands. His
fingernails were clean. I let my eyes travel up, admiring the way his sleeves squeezed
his arms.
    A few minutes later, the waitress returned with our wraps and
drinks. I went for a sip of the raspberry lemonade first.
    “That’s delicious,” I said.
    “They brew it here.”
    “I suppose being a personal trainer means you watch what you
eat?”
    Something flashed in his eyes. “Oh yeah. I have a very
particular diet,” he said, picking up his wrap. “And a very healthy appetite.”
    I laughed. I thought maybe he’d used up all his innuendos in our
messages before the date. Not so apparently. “And I guess you’re on Tinder
because you want to meet your soulmate?”
    He covered his mouth and laughed.
    I waited for him to finish chewing.
    He swallowed. “Of course. Isn’t that why you’re on it? So you
can meet the father of your unborn children?”
    “Absolutely not,” I said. “If anything I’m on it to weed out the
people I definitely don’t want fathering my children.”
    “Perfect,” he said. “When we’re done eating, I’d love to show
you all the reasons I’m an unsuitable candidate.”
    “Where?”
    He nodded towards the