Page 7 of Chilled and Thrilled

I’m attractive, too, though. I have options, and it’s about time I explore them.

I find the app immediately and press download with no further investigation. Enough of this shit. For over a year, I’ve completely shut down any other romantic options, staying totally faithful to a man who may or may not have any interest in me, and I couldn’t date even if he did. A man who I now know is dating someone else and possibly spending Christmas with her.

If I wait for myself to get over Bram, it won’t happen. I’ll spend the rest of my days pining away and buy the cemetery plot next to his so I can carry on after I’m dead. That’s a level of pathetic even I’m not comfortable with, and now it’s time to drop-kick myself back out into the dating pool.

Ready or not, here I come on dicks that don’t belong to my best friend’s father.

“Use that picture of you at the beach from last summer,” Honor advises as she fiddles with her ponytail, tilting her chin this way and that to examine the effect in the mirror.

“Why are you so nervous about this?” I ask, grateful for something to think about that has nothing to do with Bram (except half his genes).

Honor’s hands drop back to her sides, and she crosses to the carry-on bags standing ready beside Leni’s. Her shuttle to the airport leaves in twenty minutes, and I won’t see her again until after the holidays.

“Riley’s family is like… super rich. I mean, our parents have both done really well for themselves, but there’s normal people having money, and then there’s multi-zillionaire kind of money. It’s different, you know?” She looks so nervous, and I hate that.

“Honor, if they don’t like you because you don’t have an eight-digit trust fund, they’re not worth your time. And if Riley doesn’t have your back, neither is she.”

Leni bobs her head in agreement. “If they give you a hard time, just leave. Impressing them isn’t worth your self-esteem or mental health.”

Honor seems to shake herself, giving us a grateful, if strained, smile. “You’re both right. Of course. I’m going to head down to the lobby.”

After a round of hugs and promises to text while we’re apart, I retreat to my bedroom and flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

Downloading that app was impulsive, but it needed to be done. Honor has been nothing but an amazing friend to me. While I’m not clear on where one gets an official copy of the girl code, it seems like “thou shall not covet thy bestie’s hot dad” would be pretty high on that list.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open the new app at the corner of my screen, wishing I felt even a little excited as I do.

YUM…

What Are You Into?

I snort, scrolling further to read the description.

Why waste time going on dates with someone, only to learn that they yuck your yum? With YUM you’re only given matches who share your yums. Get started today!

Leni’s brief description of the app over dinner a few days ago barely caught my interest, but with Bram’s new girlfriend, the incident, and a fresh wave of crippling guilt over breaking the girl code, this seems like an ideal solution.

With a quick check of the time to make sure I don’t have to leave for work yet, I press the button to create an account. After the basic age range, geographic vicinity, and pronouns stuff, a long checklist pops up on the screen, and my belly twists as I scroll down the list of kinks, fetishes, and other qualifiers.

The app is… thorough. Way more than I expected it to be. There are dozens of check marks and follow-ups, questioning how important it is that a future partner shares that particular desire on a scale from one to five.

I really doubt I’m going to meet my soulmate on an app called YUM, but that’s a good thing. I probably check way more “interested in exploring” boxes than necessary, but the whole point of this is to get out of my comfort zone. Apart from a few brief relationships in college, I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to find out what I like or don’t.

Taking Honor’s advice, I use the picture from our beach trip last summer, which features me beaming at the camera, posing in front of the ocean in a baseball cap and electric blue bikini that leaves little to the imagination and makes it pretty clear I won the genetic boob lottery.

Damn, good for me.

When I get to the last registration page, it’s time to leave for work and I’m filled with a savage, defiant pleasure as I hit create account.

Screw Bram—metaphorically, of course—and his stupid, handsome face and his stupid, amazing personality. The also obviously amazing Rebecca can keep him. I might not be the most well-adjusted flower on the wall, but I’m young andreasonably attractive. Somebody out there is going to want to have some weird sex with me.

Six-months-from-now Sophie is going to look back at this self-destructive phase and laugh. Probably with an awesome, grown-up hobby like golf or growing recreational marijuana in her closet. Not masturbating to thoughts of crawling under Honor’s father’s desk and letting him fuck her mouth. No way. She’s so much classier than that. I bet she can tell the difference between a Riesling and a cabernet and everything.

Comforted by the promise of a superior Sophie on the horizon, I duck out of my room, almost running headlong into Leni in the short hallway that leads to the main living area. “Shit, sorry.” I step around her, but she calls after me.

“What were you talking about the other night? When you were drunk?”

I wince, and my stomach twists uncomfortably as I look back at her, careful to keep my expression impassive. “What did I say?”

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