Page 5 of Swiped

On her way backstage, someone handed Nat a room-temperature bottle of water and a tote bag stuffed with stickers, pins, coasters, and flimsy sunglasses.

In the green room, a dozen or so tech journalists hunched over laptops and smartphones, fingers furiously working their keyboards as their eyes scanned the room every few seconds.

The biggest outlet and the event’s biggest sponsor, the online juggernaut BuzzFill , had already commandeered an entire corner of the room — a teeming beehive of writers, interns, and audiovisual techs.

Some of the panelists were already chatting up the reporters.

Nat watched a twenty-something woman with wild pink curls gesture dramatically as she talked into a mic held by another twenty-something with asymmetrical hair and tattoos.

She felt like she had only just landed where she wanted in her career, and yet she already felt the pressure of being replaced.

Nat was giving the journalists a wide berth when a hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder.

A petite producer with a They/Them shirt and a green pixie cut scream-spoke into a headset while holding up one finger to Nat’s face. “I don’t want excuses, Connor! I want any and all normies to be kept on the balcony!”

Before Nat could decide whether to defend herself against being a “normie” or jump at the chance to escape, they stopped yelling and smiled at her. “Speaker badge, yay! Panelists are over here.”

“Hi, sorry,” said Nat, as they scooted her toward a cluster of folding chairs and an oh-so-80s floral sofa that was probably a decade older than most people in the room. “I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“Just chill here,” said the producer, whose name badge read V. “And help yourself to the spread.” They gestured to a table piled with sweating cans and bottles and deli trays. “We’ve got sparkling water, all the flavors, though I wouldn’t because the bubbles come back as burps onstage.”

“Oh, that would be bad,” Nat murmured as she took a seat against the screaming pattern of bright pink tiger lilies and palm leaves on the old sofa.

“Disaster. And we got a cheese sampler, but depending on how you do with dairy, that’s basically gonna coat your throat in mucus. Saliva is already gnarly enough in a microphone, you know?”

“Totally . . .” Nat felt her chest tightening. “I probably won’t eat the cheese then.”

“Good call. Oh, and there’s a keg of craft vodka tonics on tap.” V took a breath and squinted into the distance. “Though, alcohol? Really? During a livestream?”

“Livestream?” Nat had a vague memory of Justin and Jo mentioning this, but it was actually too vague, almost as if they’d been trying to keep her from remembering it, which was why they were so good at their jobs.

V looked at Nat with a mix of bravado and pity. “The internet. You know how it is.”

“Totally.” Nat swallowed what she hoped was a normal amount of saliva and mucus. “Totally,” she repeated.

“So, yeah, help yourself to the snacks. You’re on in ten.”

They stormed off, barking more orders into their headset, as Nat tried to take deep, calming breaths.

Instead, she felt her body stiffen against the lumpy sofa cushions.

Was she sweating already? She started to open the water bottle, then caught V giving her side-eye.

OK, so it was a no to the water, and a yes to the sweating.

She pulled out her phone to text the twins a question about maybe, just thinking out loud, maybe not doing the panel?

— when someone plopped onto the sofa beside her.

“So, I guess I shouldn’t have been downing all those gin-and-brie martinis, then?”

Nat laughed and turned to the voice. “I’ve never been so terrified of cheese in my life,” she said. Beside her was a thirty-something man with deep olive skin and shiny black curls cropped above a boyish face. And he was smiling at her. Nat couldn’t help but smile back.

He had thick eyebrows and dark eyes that sparkled as he gestured to the couch and said, “Here, let this weirdly tropical sofa soothe you into believing you are far, far away. Somewhere like . . .” His full lips turned up in a little smirk as he finished his thought.

“Like at a Best Western in the year 1998.”

Nat laughed again, and some more of the tension eased out of her chest. “’98?

” she said. “I wish!” She turned toward him with an ominous creak in the couch, and scanned for his badge, but didn’t see one.

“Then I could just ride my bike to Blockbuster, and stay up all night eating Gushers and trying to find Carmen Sandiego.”

Her companion smiled and shook his head. “I had a theory about that game and it wasn’t popular around the school lunch table.”

“Neither was I,” said Nat. “So, let’s hear it.”

His brows knitted together, and Nat couldn’t help but notice the way his boyishness sharpened into something more dashing when he was in thought.

“Carmen Sandiego doesn’t want to be found, right?

And so, if we stop looking for her, she’s free.

We’re both free.” His dark eyes twinkled at Nat again.

Mischief looked good on him. “So why catch the butterfly? Just observe its beauty.”

Gorgeous eyes aside, Nat cringed. “Yikes! You said this out loud? In middle school?”

“I wasn’t wrong!” he said as she laughed. “My point is, nothing you could say out there could possibly go over as poorly as my extended butterfly analogy to a group of seventh grade boys.”

“I believe that,” said Nat, as he paused, suddenly serious.

“Unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Unless Brian K. is out there in the audience. Because in that case,” he held his palm up to his face, “it doesn’t matter that your hand is smaller than your head because you’re about to get a bloody nose.”

Nat laughed the last clench of nerves out of her stomach as she sank into the sofa.

“Yeah, obviously.” She smiled at him as the sudden desire to look super, super cute flooded her body.

She remembered that a guy she dated in college had always liked it when she tossed her hair.

“And thanks,” she said, fluffing some of her honey brown curls across her shoulder and leaning toward him. “I’ve never done one of these before.”

She watched his approval of her gesture flash across his face as he said, “It’s nothing. You looked like you were about to pass out, which usually only draws more attention.” He raised one eyebrow. His eyes flared with secret mischief again. “Counterproductive.”

Nat felt his gaze with a flip in her stomach. Speaking of butterflies . . . It’s been a long time. “Hi, I’m Nat.” She held up her badge as if he needed proof, remembering how she behaved like an anxious nun when she was nervous.

“Well, that’s shitty luck,” he blurted. His face fell before he picked it back up into a forced smile. “I mean, hey there.”

Nat mock-frowned. “I always kinda liked my name, but to each their own,” she joked, still too charmed to fully register the sudden shift in tone. “And anyway, what’s your name?”

He jittered his leg up and down as he looked at the ground. “I’m Rami.” Then he turned his eyes — colder and far less sparkly — to her. “And you’re Nat Lane, creator of BeTwo, the only modern way to date.”

“Well, yeah!” This time, Nat felt a swell of pride instead of dread for being recognized, and having her app’s tagline quoted back to her no less.

Now she practically wanted to crawl up and kiss the BeTwo billboard .

. . and maybe this cute guy with the soft-looking lips too, while she was at it.

“Glad our ads are working.” She offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Rami.”

Rami just nodded and gave her a quick handshake before fishing out his phone.

Nat frowned in earnest this time, and watched him tap away.

Was he nervous to meet her? The twins had told her this would start to happen, even though she’d never believed it.

Who got nervous around a coder? But they did have that billboard on the freeway.

She was here to be the top speaker at this panel.

Maybe this was her first star-struck fan?

It was actually really flattering, and since it'd been almost two years since she’d flirted with anyone, she’d take any help she could get.

She smiled and tossed her hair again. “So, you use BeTwo?”

Rami grunted a laugh. “Yes, I have.” He grunted again, and his face lit up at some interior joke. “Though now I just go straight for a root canal when I feel like inflicting that much pain upon myself.”

Nat blinked in shock. Pain? Upon . . . ? “Excuse me?” she said.

Rami sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls. “Look, you seem like a nice person, but your app is . . .” He hesitated.

“Brilliant?” suggested Nat.

Rami smiled. “Evil.”

Nat’s mouth literally dropped open, and she had a second to register that such a cartoonish thing actually did happen in a state of outraged disbelief.

Then V’s neon pixie cut flashed into view.

Clapping loudly, they bellowed, “Panelists! You’re up!

Form a single-file line along the yellow tape, not the red tape!

” They clapped a few times after each word as they added, “Not! The! Red!”

Nat stood and tried to fix Rami with her coolest stare. But the butterflies only fluttered harder in her stomach when she saw his full frame—strong thighs in dark denim and broad shoulders in a neat gray button-down. “Well, sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to get in line.”

But instead of withering into the sofa as she’d hoped, Rami stood also. Now his espresso eyes were above her line of sight just enough to force her to look up and lose the high ground. “Yeah, me too.” He fished a SPEAKER badge from his pocket as he added in a singsong voice, “See you out there!”