Page 1 of Resurfaced Passion

CHAPTER ONE

“Swipe right for love. Exit stage left if you’re sane.” - Paige Simmons

“I’d totally date me,” she muttered to herself with little confidence in what she was saying, whittling the corner of her left thumb nail with her teeth in a show of frenetic energy rushing through her veins.Online dating was just not her friend, but she was soldiering on.

She dealt with people on the daily, so she was impervious to nerves.

Unless it was something personal.

Paige Simmons was a baker who liked to watch bad TV, scream at every football game, wear odd colored tights and very high heels and sing badly along with the radio, even if she was in public. She loved anything cheesy and if she saw a puppy, she would 100% get down on her knees and baby-talk to the good boy.

She was also prone to dyeing her hair different shades of pink for no reason other than she felt every woman should dance to her own tune and not follow the masses.

She wasn’t a feminist as such. She liked bras. Bras kept her ample boobs in check and pointing in the right direction,thank you. But she’d always felt as though women could choose to do whatever they wanted. And if that meant marching in rallies, chaining themselves to railings and getting arrested for the greater good, then so be it. It also meant she could dye her hair whatever color she wanted on a Saturday night, while she ate her weight in cheese puffs and not care if the older generation looked at her strangely.

Taking a big gulp of the too sweet lemonade sitting near her right hand, the fizz all but evaporated, she gave another cursory glance to the laptop screen; her own image glaring back at her.

Was she really going to put herself out there, on a dating website of all places? Seriously, had it come to this? Was twenty-seven considered too young to be called a dating disaster?

Lonely.Gah, what a nasty word that was.

That was the word circling her overburdening thoughts over a glass of wine last night, so much so it motivated Paige to open the laptop and start the process of making an account.

Now she was looking at the photo she’d used on her bio and was having doubts in epic proportion. It was supposed to be a little bit of fun, but this didn’t feel like fun at all. Not with her tummy on a spin cycle of nerves.

She hovered the mouse arrow over the delete account button a dozen times at least.

Going over her bio again, she mentally tore it apart. Did men want to know her life goals?

God, she didn’t know.

Maybe she should be honest.Wants a connection and maybe some sex.

She sucked at this dating shit and knowing what men wanted was like learning a foreign language in three minutes.

Hells fire, she couldn’t even get the manshe wantedto be interested in her, apart from the weird way they danced around each other, so what chance did she have with a complete stranger?

Hunched over the laptop she hit publish.

There. Her profile was live.Watch those swipes roll in.

With a harried noise, she slammed the lid shut.

She wasn’t bad looking. She had a slim figure and received compliments on her toned legs, even if they were on her small 5’4 frame. She loved her waist long hair and her tight bottom and sometimes she liked her boobs, they weren’t pointing towards her knees yet, so that was a boob bonus.

Just a little clumsy at times and a bit forgetful… ha, now that wasfunny. But overall she wouldn’t say she was a bad choice to date.

Finding a mate to love and cuddle and do all those mundane, wonderful things, she saw couples doing every day. She was envious of the hand holding, laughing at private jokes together and just knowing someone was there.

Sheachedfor that.

And she’d wanted it with just one man for such a long time, but he’d shown little indication that he wanted anything more than a weird friendship with her.

She couldn’t wait around forever.

Even if her heart said to wait a while longer.

A few more months. A day. A week. A year or two.

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