Page 12 of 28 Dates

“College party.” This I know. She met them leaving a dorm party. They walked her home, they laughed, and they’ve been friends ever since.

“Wrong,” Trey says, and it’s the way he says it, the faraway look in his eyes as he does and the regret in his tone, that makes me step forward, as close to the bar as I can possibly be, and lean down. “She’ll kill me for telling you, you know. But of all people, you should know.”

I don’t ask why that is. When it comes to Caitlin, I’ve always wanted to know everything, and I don’t care how I get that information. Knowing more can only help me win her over with the plan I’m about to set in place. “What is it?”

Something tells me I’m going to need a drink so I take a long swallow and slam my bottle back onto the counter.

“We were at a party,” Trey says. “Corbin and I were interested in some chicks from our Lit class so we headed to the girls’ dorm to party with them.” He shakes his head, and if I’m not mistaken, his hand tremors before he squeezes it and flexes.

“And?” My teeth are gritted together and my jaw hurts. I’veneverseen Trey this pissed. And almost a decade later? Worst-case scenarios of how exactly they met Caitlin spin in my head, making my stomach roll.

“We were at the end of the hall of this party, screwing around, being idiots, and heard this scream.” My blood boils, and I drain the rest of my beer. Nothing cools me as he continues. “Some asshole. Don’t even fucking know the dick, but he had her against the wall. Blood was all over her nose and corner of her mouth.”

Fuck. Fuck.Fuuuuuck.“Was she—” I can’t even say the word. Rage pricks at the edges of my vision, blurring and turning everything a fiery haze.

“No.” He takes a large pull of his beer and stares at me unblinking. “Corbin and I beat the shit out of him before he got that far. He touched her though. Beat her up a bit to get her to stop screaming.”

“Holy fuck.” My heart is racing. That fire in my vision spreads to my limbs. To the inner need inside of me to want tolove her.This guy would die at my own hands if I ever saw him or met him in person, and I would have not one fucking regret.

Their protectiveness now makes sense, down to the fact that she lives in an apartment ten floors beneath where Trey does. Until last year, it was Corbin’s penthouse apartment, but he now lives out on the coast. This is why they take care of her and keep her close. Why he acted like a dick when we first met. They’re not her friends—they’re her older protective brothers who have made it their mission to keep her safe. And I know this because if some asshole ever touched my sister in any way close to that, I’d have my hands on my dad’s .45 without a second thought.

Several minutes pass before my rage is a low thunderous roll, giving me the ability to think clearly. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you love her.”

“Excuse me?”

“Please.” He rolls his eye and smirks. “I know you love her, and I know that’s why you left her. I don’t blame you, either, by the way. Even before that night, I figure Caitlin was always someone who kept to herself.”

He pauses, and I don’t respond. He’s got me all figured out anyway.

Tipping his beer in my direction, he grins. “If you want a real chance at her, you gotta know what you’re dealing with, and that, coupled with her parents’ turning their backs on her when she went to them for help afterward, well, she’s all levels of fucked in the head.”

Her parents? Mine still ask me if I change my sheets regularly. Mine are so damn overprotective, and in my business I left Connecticut to get away from them for space to grow. Which they hated but still supported. That’s my family—supportive even when they disagree. And her parents turned their backs on their only daughter? After she was assaulted?

I’m left without the ability to form words until I process everything else he’s said.

“You got my back with this?” I ask.

Trey grins and it’s manic. I imagine if he ever did step into a boxing ring, it’d be the look he gave an opponent before a fight. One that says,Good luck surviving, asswipe, because I’m about to murder your ass.

He yanks his phone out of his coat pocket, swipes and taps his screen, and before he even puts his phone away, mine dings with a text.

“Go for it. You’re good for her. But all I’m sayin’ is, Good fucking luck, man. Good fucking luck.”

—

Two hours. It takes me two hours to complete the questionnaire. Two freaking hours answering everything from how I fold my socks and my preference on where a toilet seat belongs—down, obviously, because I’m trying to attract a woman and not college-aged men—to deeply held religious beliefs, where I lean on the political spectrum, and not just whether I’m red or blue, but a sliding scale on where I fall on a variety of social and financial issues. I’m pretty sure Trey now knows more about me than my own mother, and she still calls me every Sunday. If she lived on the same coast as me, she’d probably pop by unexpectedly with bags full of groceries, because while I might be nearing thirty, she still thinks of me as thirteen. God love her.

Trey wasn’t joking around before he left the bar earlier as he started telling me more about this app. It’s designed for long-term compatibility, not short-term flings or nightly hookups.

A dull headache thumps at the back of my head, stress from answering the questions in the most honest way possible, while also taking into consideration what I know of Caitlin. In order for us to even be a match, Trey said we have to have a match of at least ninety percent.

I can’t be alone forever, either, and maybe it’s time to give something else a chance.

Her words from earlier bang against my head, and I get stuck on the word “alone.”

She’s been alone? As in…no one but me. It might make me a dick, but there’s a sick thrill of satisfaction in knowing this.

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