Page 8 of The Girlfriend Game
I suppose I could hang out with the twenty-two year-old rookies if I wanted to, but I don’t feel up to it. All they’ll want to do is get laid and party.
While I may have snubbed my nose at therapy, I did make a promise to Marek to remain sober through the summer. That takes clubbing off list if I want to keep myself out of trouble.
I grab a sports drink from the fridge and plop back down on my couch, my head spinning too fast to consider going back to bed. With a bored sigh, I open my phone apps and flip through my social media accounts. I swipe through the usual suspects—the bikini models, other professional athlete profiles, and thousands of wannabe creators. I scroll and scan without really noticing much, if anything, at all.
I’m in a funk, stuck in a rut, and I don’t know how to get myself out of it.
Then I recall a conversation I had with Ansel last week while we were out on a hike. We’d been discussing our social lives—or rather, my non-existent social life—and he’d mentioned a dating site he’d tried out and touted as the greatest dating app ever.
“Bro, it’s great. It’s designed for guys like us who want to meet someone we connect with who is interested in us personally, not our fame or profession.”
I tipped back my water bottle and wiped the sweat collecting on my brow as we jogged along the trail. We’d gotten up early and taken a drive out to Cougar Mountain, a densely wooded state park with amazing views at the top of the trail.
Ansel continued up the hill, but I grabbed the edge of his T-shirt to stop him. He whipped his head back toward me.
“Tell me more about this. How it is different than the other hookup apps like Tinder or whatever?”
I’ve never tried a dating app before. Never needed to. It’s cliché, but there has never been a shortage of women who wanted to hook up with me.
But that was then, and this is now. At thirty-three, I’m seeing life differently and I want something different.
Ansel bent over at the waist, placing his hands on his knees, working to catch his breath. Long wisps of his blond hair fell into his eyes over the headband that secured it back from his face. I always tease him that he could be one of the characters fromThe Sound of Musicwith his strong European jawline, blond hair, bright blue eyes, and of course, his thick German accent.
When he pushed himself upright, he took a swig of water and shrugged. “It’s an app that hides your identity from everyone but the admin on the site. When you sign up, they verify who you are, you complete a questionnaire, and then you set up your online profile name. The site matches people based on their personality profiles, not their profile picture or other identifying aspects. It’s completely anonymous until you match and prevents the possibility someone’s into you based on superficial criteria or photos.”
“Or dick pics,” I snorted, scrunching my forehead suspiciously. “It sounds like a good way to get catfished, if you ask me.”
He shook his head adamantly. “Nah, man. It’s a way to weed out those chicks who only want you for your money or fame. That’s how I met Giselle. I didn’t know who she was until we met in person. Our connection was strictly based on our mutual interests and finding out we shared our motherland in common.”
I considered that for a moment and remembered meeting Giselle once at a party last year. They did seem like a perfect match, and she was gorgeous, to boot.
“What happened between you guys, anyway? You broke up earlier this year, right?”
He heaved out a heavy sigh, moving to the side of the trail to allow room for a family of four to motor by us. A young kid hanging from a backpack on his father’s back smiled and waved as they passed. We waved back. I made a funny face at him, and he giggled.
When I turned back to Ansel, he frowned. “We couldn’t make it work. Our schedules never seemed to coincide, and it became an issue because she lives in New York. We never got to spend time with each other.”
“That sucks,” I lamented, beginning our ascent back up the trail.
Ansel waved a hand and pushed forward. “Yeah, it does. Because I thought she was the one.”
Now as I stare at the open app on my phone, I consider my motives for wanting to date. I’ve never had a great track record for it. Just like Ansel said, our schedules during the season can wreak havoc on a relationship.
Am I considering this out of sheer loneliness? Or perhaps it’s because I’m blue and down in the dumps, and it would be nice to seek solace in the arms of a lover and companion.
Fuck it.
If I’m going to invest myself in this dating game, then I should ensure I’m healthy, both physically and mentally. I know my body is in great shape and I’m healthy after the plethora of medical tests I just went through.
That leaves my mental health as the questionable factor. And the only way to get that back in top notch form is through therapy.
I open my calendar and find the previously scheduled appointment that Marek’s administrative assistant set up for me with Dr. Rush.
With only a few more games left in the regular season, I don’t want to be the guy on the team who can’t be counted on to help his teammates get to the playoffs. I want back in the game and if this is the way to do it, so be it. Screw my pride.
I hit accept to the schedule request and then return to the dating app.
My finger hovers over theCreate and Acceptbutton as I read through the app’s description and agreement.
