Page 25 of Swiped

Nat was nearing the end of her gin martini when Rami slid onto the barstool next to her. A hot flush up her chest and swirl of excitement told her he’d arrived, even before his elbow brushed against hers.

“Don’t worry,” he said, as Nat caught the strong scent of mint gum. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

A denial flashed in her head, but she recognized the defeated look in his eyes all too well. “No bites for you, either?”

Rami signaled for his usual bourbon and smoothed his windblown curls. “I don’t know, there’s almost something more pure about being rejected in person instead of in pixels.”

Nat considered this. “Less digital evidence?”

Rami closed his eyes as he savored his fresh drink. “I mean, at least I got tossed back for something I actually did or said in the moment.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s almost refreshing.”

Nat arched an eyebrow. She couldn’t resist taking the bait as she said, “Refreshing? That would imply that it’s been a while since you’ve been rejected, and is that really the case?”

Rami shot her an amused smirk. “You’ve been listening. Yes, rejection has been my constant dating experience thanks to your app.”

Nat smirked back. “Sure, buddy.”

Rami traced a long finger around the rim of his glass.

Nat’s eyes watched the slow circle and felt a small sigh slip past her lips.

“What I mean is that, unlike when an online date mysteriously bails out of nowhere, I experienced this crash-and-burn in real time, as a direct result of my own conscious actions. So, I know exactly why she bailed, and now I can think about that cold, hard fact instead of torturing myself for weeks wondering if I listed the wrong band on my profile or, Heaven forbid, had an emoji misinterpreted.” He sighed and sipped his drink. “It’s a gift, really.”

“Well, you seem thrilled about it.”

“I am,” he said into his bourbon.

Nat downed the rest of her martini and signaled for another.

Rami was clearly in a pontificating mood, and she was beginning to suspect that it was his default setting, which suited her just fine.

Why else spend time consorting with her competitor?

It was true that Rami was literally the only other person who could understand the pressures of the contest, and it was nice to commiserate — and monitor his progress to make sure he wasn’t winning.

But he was also the only person she knew who seemed to think as much as she did, or overthink, depending on who you asked.

That meant that he was a valuable cache of user feedback.

Time to see if she could mine his experiences for data.

“Let me ask you this about online dates, then . . .” She twirled the olive in her teeth for a bit as she thought of how to frame her question, but the whiplash of her dud of a date with Nick was too fresh for nuanced wording.

“What if their texts are perfect? Then you meet up, and whoops! There’s one giant thing missing. ”

Rami grunted with a knowing laugh. “No chemistry.”

“Nothing! Like a mayonnaise sandwich on white bread, served on a CD of Christian pop music.”

“Been there. That’s why you have to go for the in-person meeting right away.”

She met his eyes. “How quickly?”

He knit his brows in thought, the way he had when they’d been on the floral sofa backstage. Nat felt the alcohol buzz a little in her temples. She smoothed her hair and sat up straighter.

“I once texted with a girl for six whole weeks,” he said, swirling his bourbon in the glass. “Long, thumb-cramping texts about real stuff.”

“You were pen pals.”

He put down his drink and looked at Nat with tender eyes. “I was completely falling in love with her.”

His candor hit her like a wave. Suddenly, she could see it — the too-soft underbelly behind his prickly, just-the-facts exterior. He was a softie, a crab holding a knife. “Is that all it takes for you to fall in love?” she asked.

“Fine, I was smitten.” Rami did a little self-deprecating shrug with the admission. “But we texted about so much. I could write all about politics, past relationships, what I ate for dinner, and I’d always get the same great things back. And then she’d write to me all about her life.”

Nat didn’t need to search too far in her memory to know what he meant — it’d been the same with Nick. “Like she understood you.”

“Exactly.” He raked his knuckles against the dimple in his chin. “She was traveling a lot, and I didn’t want to ask her out too soon and scare her off. So, this went on and on until, finally, we met up.”

“And she was totally different?”

He shook his head. “No, she was smart and cute and we had lots in common.” He sighed. “There just wasn’t that thing .”

“A spark,” Nat said, as Nick’s handsome face and utterly lifeless kiss flashed in her mind.

“A hook,” he agreed.

“But then it’s almost like you feel that you have to like them.”

“Even though you don’t like them. And it doesn’t make sense that you don’t!”

“Because you’ve invested all this time!” said Nat, raising her hands for emphasis. “But you still don’t.”

Rami nodded in knowing sadness.

Nat sipped her martini. She liked how the red glow of the bar lit his deep-set eyes and Roman nose — an elegant profile.

She felt ease spreading in her chest like she was breathing sweet, cool air.

Maybe it was the martinis. But she knew her drinks and herself too well to go with that explanation.

It was a feeling she’d noticed before whenever she talked to Rami.

No matter what he said to her, she responded from some deep, reflexive place in her mind — no debating words, no clench of anxiety, no ringing in her ears that made her voice sound hollow and shrill.

Even when he was frustrating her so much that she wanted to scream, it was an authentic scream.

With other people, she usually felt like there were two versions of her at all times, one saying the words and making the moves, and another one hovering like a commentator to score and strategize on every step.

It was hard to remember a time when she hadn’t felt that way.

In fact, maybe she’d never noticed it was just a feeling and not a permanent state of being until, like now, it was just suddenly, beautifully, gone.

Rami shot her a glance through his thick lashes. “Let me guess, how long did your date with this guy last tonight? Two hours?”

“Three!” she blurted. “Why didn’t I just leave after one drink?”

“The sunk cost fallacy.” He rubbed his hands together like he was about to dive into a good meal.

“This is something I’ve thought about a lot, actually.

” He leaned closer to her, eyes dancing in the low light.

“At a certain point, it becomes harder to walk away from something even though you know it’s going nowhere.

You keep trying to tell yourself that you can save it . . .”

“Yes!” Nat touched his arm, charged up to hear her terrible evening narrated in a logical way that she could make sense of. “Your brain is like, ‘Oh, remember that really smart thing he said about politics? He’s not un interesting. And he’s objectively really hot!’”

Rami laughed and picked up the thread. “One more drink and you’ll click.” He rubbed a hand over where she had touched his arm. “And then another hour goes by, and another . . .”

“Until suddenly, you’re a little drunk and not even listening to him because you realize that you can’t remember a single person who actually enjoys your company!”

Rami raised his eyebrows. Nat bit her lip. The echo of her confession flamed hot on her cheeks. Her eyes darted at him with a sheepish glance.

He lifted his glass to her. “Or you find your girlfriend kissing Hot Patrick from the mailroom, and you have no idea what just happened to your life.”

Nat’s hand flew to her chest in surprise. “Ouch. Really?”

Rami slumped over his glass but gave her a sad, knowing smile.

Nat picked up her glass with a shaky hand and clinked a toast before they both drained their cocktails in unison.

Rami signaled for another round. “And you’re not so bad.” He gave her a shy glance. “Don’t let the turkeys get you down.”

Nat snorted a laugh. “Turkeys?”

“Yeah. I say, anyone who doesn’t treat me with respect is a turkey, because clearly those things are dumb.”

Nat felt her eyes crinkle. “Is it really that easy for you to brush it off?”

Rami sighed. “No.” He raked long fingers over his face, like wiping cobwebs from his eyes. “Therapy helps, and anxiety meds, but really, it’s laziness. So many people don’t like me already, so to argue with them all would be truly . . .” He trailed off as he eyed his drink.

“Exhausting,” finished Nat. “Easier to just stick with the people who are able to stand you, even if that’s literally only one person.”

Rami raised his glass in a silent salute. “You get it.”

“Yeah,” Nat said softly, feeling suddenly morose. The reality of being no closer to winning the contest washed over her. She took the last swallow of her martini. “Anyway, now I get to go on long and disappointing dates, so it’s fine.”

Rami motioned for the check. “Did you get any food on this long and disappointing date?”

“Not enough,” she said, memories of the tiny tapas plates taunting her mind.

“Pizza?”

Nat threw her head back. “Yes,” she practically moaned.

Her stomach flipped as he raised his left eyebrow with an approving smile. Nat saw his eyes flicker down her body, and she silently thanked herself for wearing a mini skirt as she shifted her long legs and pretended not to notice his gaze.

“I know a place,” he said.

* * *

Nat and Rami perched on cracked leather stools at a crooked silver table. They held their huge slices of pizza in front of their faces and took big, unembarrassed, cheese-oozing bites.

“Oh my God,” said Nat, mouth full of pepperoni. “There’s nothing called a ‘pizza fallacy’ is there?”

Rami shook some more crushed pepper onto his mushroom and spinach slice. “Not that I know of.”