Page 3 of 28 Dates

“Yeah.” He pushes his way through the door, his large and muscled frame entering like he has every right to be here, and not even considering the fact I can deny him entrance.

Which I won’t. I step back before his body shoves me back, and shut the door behind him.

Through another yawn I don’t bother disguising, I shuffle behind him to the kitchen. “How long have you been awake?”

His head is bent, fingers swiping across the screen. He doesn’t look up as he asks, “W-w-what day is it?”

He stutters slightly and I frown. He typically hides it well, his stutter making an appearance only when he’s overly exhausted or extremely nervous. It’s been months since I’ve heard it. It’s also so damn early, I blame the time and him waking me from a really good dream to remember. The dream is now a hazy memory, but I woke up with that heavy, aroused feeling between my thighs.

More reason to curse Trey and his early arrival.

“It’s Monday.”

“Right. Monday. Still January?”

“God, Trey. You’re a wreck.” I shove his shoulder, knocking him off balance, and chuckle as he falls into the barstool I aimed him for in the first place. “Need coffee?”

With laser focus on my Keurig, I pull out a K-Cup from the drawer beneath the machine that brings the elixir of life. I get it settled and grab two mugs.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I think I had some. A few hours ago? M-m-maybe?” I turn just as Trey scratches his cheek. His scruff is out of control and he’s usually cleanly shaven. He scowls at his hand, like he doesn’t understand why his face is scratchy in the first place, and finally sets down the tablet. “I think I need to sleep more. Maybe.”

He shrugs, and it’s adorable. Which is not a word he likes me using to describe him. Trey Kollins is built to be in the middle of a boxing ring. He’s also a huge geek. Brains and brawn with a quirky smile and a protective streak when it comes to me that stretches the entire West Coast.

“Then go sleep.” I fill my mug and set a second in the machine. He might be jittery and need sleep, but it’ll take him hours or days to crash if he’s really finished his current app. “Personally, I’d like to. Can’t this wait a few hours?”

He lifts his head. Eyebrows are scrunched together, and his jaw drops. Right. How dare I, his beloved assistant and friend, not understand his excitement? I know him enough to know he’s shocked at my lack of interest.

“Fine.” I take another sip of my coffee and reach for the tablet, sliding it my way. “What do you need my help with?”

His palms drum on the countertop. “I want you to try this.”

“Never gonna happen,” I mutter.

I’ll never understand how Trey of all people, who rarely sees a woman for longer than a week or two, is for some reason obsessed with creating dating apps. He’ll say it’s because it’s a big moneymaker and he goes to where the dollar signs are, but I think he’s full of crap. Trey likes women, and personally I think the only reason his relationships, as short as they are, don’t work out is because he’s too scatterbrained and singularly focused on his job to remember he has a woman waiting for him when he gets entrenched in his work.

Me, on the other hand? I swore off serious relationships years ago.

This particular app is a spin-off from one he made over a year ago called PerfectMate. He’s been working on building and refining that app into PerfectMatch. For months, he’s been scrambling algorithms and coding and whatever other techie words he uses to do his job that go over my marketing- and numbers-minded brain.

Essentially, he’s been trying to design and create a dating app that’s focused not on short-term physical appeal but on long-term relationships. You fill out a questionnaire that dissects every possible thing about your life and beliefs and interests and goals, and the app creates a ninety-percent-match rate before you ever see a person on your swipe up or down screen.

If there’s a man who matches ninety percent of everything I want in life and is slated to be my forever, my goal is to stay as far away as possible.

“Come on, Caitlin.” Trey pushes away from the counter and helps himself to the coffee I readied for him. “I need help with this. I could have totally messed it all up, or it’s going to be the hugest app in the world for people who want more than a quickie fling.”

“Exactly.” I grin and tip my mug in his direction. “Which is why I am not your girl on this.”

“Yeah, but you’re like the only normal girl I know.”

I’m not sure that’s a compliment, considering how messed up I am when it comes to relationships and men. “Thanks.”

He laughs, and it’s rough and gritty, like he’s smoked two dozen packs of cigarettes and hasn’t drunk water in a month. The smoking would never happen with him, but the lack of water undoubtedly has.

“You know what I mean. Just a month. It’s all I’m asking. See what happens before I finalize the kinks in it. It’s not like you have to marry the guys you’ll meet.” He looks at me with a strange sparkle in his eyes, tilting his head to the side. I know this look: it means trouble. “And who knows, maybe you’ll finally move past He Who Should Not Be Named.”

He’s referencing Jonas. It’s possible I was not Miss Pleasant to Be Around in the weeks following the dissolve of our arrangement months ago. Pushing down the lingering pinch I feel whenever Jonas is brought up, I flash Trey a wink. I’m determined not to go there.

Yet maybe he has a point. Ever since Jonas and I ended, I haven’t hooked up with anyone. And when our friends Teagan and Corbin were married last fall, it was the first time I felt some strange emotion as they recited their vows with tears in their eyes.

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