Page 2 of Dirty Delivery

No, Netflix, I’m not. I’m reevaluating my life choices and hating myself for yet another weekend spent on my couch.

I’m five episodes into rewatchingParks and Recreationwhen it hits me: Sarah is right. I am in a rut. The only interaction I’ve had with a man lately is Rylan delivering my monthly dose of mortification.

With a groan, I grab my still-damp phone and open Tinder. The app blares its neon-red logo at me, mocking my singlehood. My thumb hovers over the familiar profiles: guy with a fish, gym selfie dude, and . . . wait, is that a picture of someone’s dad? I swipe left until my thumb cramps.

That’s when I see him:Tinder Guy(because I’ve given up learning names before meeting anyone in person). He’s cute enough—dark hair, scruffy beard, nice smile. His bio says he’s into "Italian food, bad jokes, and spontaneous adventures." Basic but tolerable. More importantly, we matched a week ago, and he already sent a message:Hey there, Savannah. You’ve got a gorgeous smile.

Well, at least someone’s trying. I click into the thread.

Tinder Guy

Hey there, Savannah. You’ve got a gorgeous smile.

Me

Thanks! That’s kind of you to say.

Tinder Guy

Just being honest. How’s your week going?

Me

Do you want the nice answer or the truth?

Tinder Guy

Let’s go with the truth.

Me

It’s been a disaster, honestly. Work sucked, my shoes are ruined, and my phone nearly drowned.

Tinder Guy

Ouch. Sounds like you deserve a little pick-me-up.

Me

I could use one. Got any suggestions?

Tinder Guy

I happen to be excellent at cheering people up. Maybe I can show you sometime?

Me

Bold move. What do you have in mind?

Tinder Guy

Drinks? I know a great little spot downtown. Or I could bring over a bottle of wine and some bad jokes.

Me

Home delivery service? That’s tempting.

Tinder Guy

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