Page 16 of Swiped

Rami watched Lynn, his date from the coffee shop, study the Skee-Ball machine in front of her.

They’d agreed to meet at a bar-arcade, and after he’d gotten them a couple of beers, Lynn had led them right to the machine as if pulled by magnets.

She was definitely just as cute as he remembered — bubbly and warm with a cherubic, sweet-looking face and those big brown eyes.

But he had to admit that it was hard, actually nearly impossible, to have much of a conversation between the jangling noise of the various machines.

Even if it was an impractical choice, it was still a relief to have something to do besides stare at each other and exchange life details over pricey cocktails.

The creeping melt of first dates into quasi-job interviews had been part of the reason for Rami’s eleven-month retreat from the romantic arena.

Other reasons included every conversation that suddenly went cold, every promising date that ended up ghosting, and every crushingly awkward IRL meetup that was one more brick in the wall of his growing belief that he was, probably maybe, terminally undateable.

The Skee-Ball machine rang out with a shrill siren and flashed its lights while a stream of tickets flowed out of the slot. Rami clapped as Lynn gave him a curtsy and collected her winnings.

“Damn! Baller!” he said, giving her a high five. “Like, literally. You are a skilled thrower of balls.” He paused. “That sounded dirty, but that wasn’t what I meant—”

Lynn handed him the tangle of tickets. “Dude, relax.” She took a swig of her beer and surmised the rest of the machines like she was crafting battle plans. “I could do this in my sleep. My husband and I used to live right by this place.”

Rami gave a polite laugh. “You said ‘husband.’”

Lynn smiled at him and batted her wide, chocolatey eyes in the neon glow. “Did I?”

“You meant ex-husband,” he offered.

“Um . . .” Lynn glanced at her beer. “No, I didn’t.” She took a cautious sip and watched for his reaction.

Rami blinked in shock. He felt the prickle of his conscience in the pit of his stomach as his mind raced for how he could possibly respond. Why was the first thing on his lips an apology?

“Look, I’m poly,” she blurted. “It’s an open marriage, so he’s totally cool with this.” She gestured into the space between her and Rami. “And so is my boyfriend.”

“H . . . husband and b . . . boyfriend?” Rami stammered. His stomach fully lurched now, and his mind went blank, the instinctive apology now abandoned out of total confusion.

Lynn set down the Skee-Ball she was holding and faced Rami with a kind of defiant kindness — arms crossed, jaw set, eyes sparkling. “Serious boyfriend, actually. And then there’s a guy I see whenever he’s in town.”

As it always did in times of great stress, Rami’s brain turned to logistics for comfort. “Wow, that’s a lot of people.”

Lynn smiled, shrugged, and took his hand. She traced a finger along the inside of his palm and gave him a warm glance through her dark lashes. “I like to think of it as a lot of experiences,” she cooed.

Rami frowned. “Wait, do all these guys also have other girlfriends?”

Lynn dropped his hand and nodded with a weary air. “Yeah, they do.”

“So exactly how many people are in this relationship hydra?” Rami wiggled his fingers in the air as if to materialize a pen and paper. “Have you ever diagrammed it out?”

“We have a Miro board.”

Rami grunted with a knowing frown. “Well, you’d have to.

” He drummed the stands of tickets against his chin as his mind raced ahead.

“I mean, the scheduling alone produces a lot of data streams, not to mention controlling for the potentially calamitous overlap between social circles, and tracking sexual encounters for health records . . .” He trailed off, lost in the numbers already whizzing around his head.

Lynn tossed her long blonde hair and hooked her hand on the curve of her hip. “We think of it like swimming into deep waters — you don’t know how far it goes, or how many people it’s touched, only that it’s nourishing you right now.”

Rami absently twisted one of his curls. “Sure, it’s water, but maybe put a few drops into a Petri dish and take a look every so often, right?”

Lynn’s face drooped with a sad smile. “I take it this isn’t your thing?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping his hands and facing her. “It’s really, really not.”

Lynn winced and covered her eyes. “Shit. Now you hate me.”

“No, no!” Rami resisted the impulse to hug her as she shifted her weight in the classic pose of wishing to vanish into thin air. It was a pose he knew well. “But maybe you could have told me this before our date?”

A blush crept into her pale cheeks. “Yeah, I know. It’s in my BeTwo profile, all spelled out.” She shrugged at him, eyes full of regret. “It just felt way more awkward to say it in person.”

Rami sighed. “Right. It’s all online.” His stomach sank with a different feeling now as he remembered Nat, her damned app, and their wager. Which he was now, it seemed, officially losing.

They both went quiet and watched the couples around them, all jamming arcade buttons, jumping for excitement in the whirring machine lights, and sneaking kisses between waterfalls of tickets.

Lynn pulled her purse in front of her body. “So, do you want me to pay you back for the beer?”

Rami shook his head. “No way, forget it.” He ripped off a few of the tickets. “But I’m gonna take some of these because there’s some pretty good candy over in the prize booth.” He handed her the rest of the bundle with a quick nod. “Nice to meet you, Lynn.”

She took the tickets and bit her lip. “Hug before I lose you forever?”

Rami whirled around. “Really?”

“Are you serious?” She winked at him. “You’re a total babe.”

The unfamiliar words hit him with a wash of confusion.

And suddenly her arms were around him and her soft body was pressed against him and she planted a tender kiss on his cheek.

His stomach flipped again for another entirely new reason.

He froze, watching as she slid away with a flirty wave and wandered into the people milling about the arcade.

He was a babe. It had never occurred to him. He shook the stars from his mind and made his way to the prize booth to try and find some sour gummies.

Like a babe.

* * *

Nat drained her second drink as Eric hunched over the plate of truffle fries. He was stuffing them three at a time into his mouth and speaking between bites.

“Anyway, it turns out so much of my relationship shit is because of my trauma, and unlocking that was huge for me.” He ate some fries. “Huge.”

Nat nodded. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d uttered a word. But she didn’t know what she’d say even if Eric gave her an opening. It was painfully clear that they had nothing in common, and that even if they did, Nat would happily pretend that they didn’t.

“I mean, I’ve been shopping for therapists for ten years and finally had a life-changing session yesterday.” He grabbed some more fries. “Like, I haven’t checked my ex’s Insta at all today. Not once!”

It seemed like he wanted a reaction, and instinct kicked in as Nat said, “Oh, that’s great!”

He nodded, taking the cue to continue. “Yeah, and she’s swimming with pigs in the Bahamas right now.”

Nat squinted. “Like, pig-pigs? Curly tails, oink?”

Eric peered sadly into the pink dregs of his drink. “Little floating porkers, yeah.”

“Wow! Sounds . . . fun?” Nat considered the image. “I’ve always been a little scared of the ocean, but what shark would eat a human when there’s fresh bacon nearby?”

Eric shrugged, as if discussing the weather. “It’s an influencer retreat,” he said. “They have all kinds of crazy shit at those things.”

And with that, his monologue seemed to run out of steam.

He pulled the last cherry off a skewer with a heavy sigh.

Nat felt the silence grow thick between them.

She knew Eric would not be her heart’s match, or even a way to win the competition with Rami without driving herself insane.

But she was here, she was slightly buzzed, and she was not one to ever let a research opportunity go unused.

“Cool.” She leaned in and tossed her hair. “So, what made you message me?”

Eric blinked at her with confusion. “Come again?”

“What about my profile piqued your interest?”

Eric’s eyes took on a faraway sheen. “I don’t know, it’s all the same girl out there.

Just a blur of yoga poses and sunsets and,” he held up his fingers in air quotes, “‘casual’ bikini pics of these straight-hair hot chicks who will probably be voting Republican in two years. And then you.” He shot her a glance with an edge.

“I mean, the fact that you used the word ‘philosophy’ and knew how to spell it? It was like fucking water in the desert.”

Nat scoffed. The cocktails and her actual personality reared up through the objective of her date. “Well, thanks for noticing that I graduated high school.”

Eric nodded, genuine and still morose toward his empty cocktail. “You’re welcome.”

Nat frowned. She wasn’t sure yet if she would die on this hill, but she’d certainly endure a few hits. “I mean, it’s a pretty normal word, right?” She watched as he seemed to remember her existence and looked at her. “It’s not like most women aren’t smart, right?”

“They’re not.” Eric sat up straighter, suddenly energized. “It’s a bell curve. That’s why I list myself as a sapiosexual.” He stroked his patchy chin beard and squinted at her. “You know what that is?”

Anger flashed heat into the back of her neck. Somewhere in her mind, neurons were already sharpening their knives. But before she could respond, Nat heard her phone chiming in her purse — long and steady for an actual phone call.

“Hang on,” she said to Eric, digging in her purse.

It was Jo, and either she was in trouble or, more likely, she knew Nat might need a rescue call.