Page 16 of Betting on the Best Friend
“Lay it on me,” I tell Ava as Madison heads for the kitchen.
“I picked MeetCute, and if you care about the algorithmic reasons, I’ll tell you.”
“It’s pretty sexy,” Joey says.
I wrinkle my nose at him because I know he means it. He loves having a genius girlfriend.
“MeetCute. Isn’t that the one you used last fall?” I ask.
“Yes. I’ve posted your picture and your info. But I’ve also explained that it is not YOU screening the dates, it’s your best friend and roommate, and that I’m trying to win a bet, so I’m looking for the best possible match.”
“Guys are clicking on this?”
“Lots. I used a mostly nude photo of you.”
Joey chokes on his own spit or something and sputters.
“What picture did you actually use?” I ask.
Ava swipes through a few things on her phone and hands it to me. “That’s your profile.”
Ava posted two photos. The first is a closeup cropped from a patio party we had last fall. I look good with last summer’s tan bringing out the gold in my complexion from my dad’s Mexican genes.
My hair is still pretty short in the picture, bobbed under my chin after an angsty post-Niles salon visit. I’m smiling so we must have been broken up long enough for me to find things fun again.
“That picture’s good, right?” Ava asks.
“It’s good. I like the other one too.” She snapped it when we were riding bikes at Zilker Park a couple of weeks ago, my hair grown out now to a draped bob that almost touches my shoulders, curtain bangs on point. It’s a candid shot that says I like adventures. The thing about a friend like Ava is that she knows me well enough to pick the pictures that communicate my personality, and she loves me enough to make me look cute.
“I put all your likes and dislikes in there,” she continues. “I don’t think you’re going to want to change anything, but you should read the personal statement section and make sure you can live with it.”
I glance over the likes (chocolate, reading, outdoors anything, and movies) and dislikes (snakes, cauliflower, and Tom Hiddleston—he knows what he did) which are all correct. I read the personal statement aloud.
“This is my roommate, Ruby. She agreed to let us (the roommates) set her up on dates. I’m using this app because it’s efficient. I’ll be screening all candidates. My standards are high. You need an education, a job, a functioning car, good manners, and a sense of humor. You must also like being around people because whoever she ends up with will be around all of us roommates plus our boyfriends, often our neighbors, and her large family. Non-negotiable. You can message me why I should pick you to take out my best friend.”
It's typical Ava. Direct and specific. I hand back her phone. “All right, they’ll definitely understand what they’re getting into.”
“You’ve gotten a bunch of messages. I responded to three that had potential, and then I narrowed it down to one.” She swipes a couple more times and hands me the phone again. “This is his profile. Meet Colton.”
The picture is an outdoor shot of an extremely fit dude in hiking clothes doing a pose that makes it look like he’s liftinga large boulder in the background over his head. A sense of silliness is good. I swipe to his profile picture, which shows a guy with a very short haircut and faint laugh lines around his eyes. Hmm.
“He’s cute,” I say. “But that military haircut might mean he’s tooregimented.”
Oliver chucks a throw pillow at me and boos.
“However,” I say, moving the pillow off my lap without acknowledging it, “the laugh lines are a good sign.” I swipe to his details and wrinkle my nose. “He’s a personal trainer?”
“Let me see,” Madison says, coming back in with a glass of water. “They’re always hot.”
Oliver doesn’t look remotely bothered by this statement, not even when she makes an approving noise at Colton’s pictures. For all my enlightened gender role opinions, I like it when a guy is a little possessive. It makes me feel . . . I don’t know. Wanted? But Oliver is laid back about her flirtiness, unthreatened by her antics—which is good since she’s not doing it to provoke a reaction. Madison simply appreciates beautiful people and things.
“I’m not sure about a personal trainer,” I say. “Aren’t they kind of shallow?”
“Are you shallow for going to spin class?” she retorts. “Is your hairdresser shallow because she likes working in the beauty industry?”
“Okay, okay, point taken.” My assumption is based on personal trainers being the worst candidates on the reality dating shows we watch. I already know Ava would scold me for my small sample size. “Where am I going with Colton?”
“You’re doing a chocolate tasting after work tomorrow. I’ll send you both the reservation info. If you click with each other, you can figure out what to do with the rest of your night.” Madison waggles her eyebrows.
