I assume we all have the proverbial angel on one shoulder and devil on the other, but in my case, they’re very real, and the devil is a shouter.
I know that it is stupid to flirt with Connor. I know how absurd it is to develop sexy desires for this man in particular, but it’s been so long since I’ve been attracted to anyone that I feel like a starving dog staring at a T-bone.
Connor licks his lips, pulling them in between his teeth, and I realize he’s reacting to the weight of my stare. Blinking away, I focus my attention on the waves crashing into the smooth sand instead.
I need to get my shit together. As much as I’m glad I’m a butterfly coming out of the cocoon of sexual stagnation, I probably shouldn’t fly directly to the first flower I see. Especially if that flower’s professional goal is finding me a soulmate.
“Well,” he says after our odd, lengthy showdown, “let’s start easy.”
I stretch, pretending to crack my neck.
“Tell me what you look for in a guy.”
Taking a deep breath, I look out at the waves in the distance, thinking. “Have you ever gone to the grocery store hungry?”
Connor laughs in understanding. “Yes.”
“Cheese plate, carrots, chips, salsa, Cocoa Pebbles, and sugar cookies. Whatever sounds good at the time.”
“Right.”
“I’d describe my dating energy a little like that. I don’t have a type, exactly, but maybe that’s part of the problem.”
He nods but doesn’t take this opportunity to speak. Again: hot.
“I initially did the DNADuo for fun,” I say. “You know, to try out the technology from a romance research perspective. I got matches and went out with everyone. I wanted to see if a Base Match felt different from a Silver.”
“Did it?” he asks.
“It did, but in romance, love is often about getting past our core assumptions. So if someone told me I had a Titanium Match, wouldn’t I subconsciously work harder to make it successful than I would with a Base Match? That’s always the question with this technology.”
He hums, nodding. “That makes sense.”
“I think doing this show is the perfect way for me to get back into the dating scene. I won’t know what kind of matches I have. I won’t overthink it. I’ll just have to go on how we vibe and let the audience worry about the rest. I mean, I’m not having any luck on my own, why not let a bunch of strangers give it a shot?”
“And you never went back to the app? You haven’t used it at all in the past couple years?”
“Oh, I haven’t had much interest in dating for a while. My desire to find a partner crashed and burned entirely around the same time I was doing my DNADuo dating spree—unrelated to the app, I should add.”
He seems to chew on his next words before finally asking, “What’s the unrelated bit?” Connor smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Ah. Well…” There are very few things I hate discussing, but high on the list are the word moist spoken aloud, people who use FML or LOL in actual conversation, and my tumultuous yet brief relationship with a man named Rob. “Around the time the DNADuo was launching, I went to a party with a friend and met this guy. We were together for a little while and I thought things were really going well until I found out he had a wife.”
His expression crashes. “Oh.”
“It was awful. I was devastated, all of the expected things from a situation like that. But then a little over a year ago, she confronted me.”
Connor winces. “What happened?”
“It wasn’t on purpose—or, well, she didn’t intentionally seek me out. I was on a date and we happened to be in the same place. She recognized me from some photos that had been on Rob’s phone, I guess, walked over to my table, and said she’d divorced him and that I was free to have him if I still wanted him.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“In any other situation I would have clarified that no, I absolutely did not want him—that I hadn’t even known Rob was married when we started dating—but I was totally frozen. It’s one thing to have made a mistake and live with it in an abstract way. It was totally different to see the fallout right there in front of me.”
“That must have been awful. I’m sorry that happened, Fizzy.”
“I had spent so much time wondering what happened to them. Did she forgive him? Did they split up? So it answered those questions, at least. Anyway…” I pick up my drink and the ice rattles against the Styrofoam as I raise it in a toast. “My therapist was able to remodel her kitchen with the money I paid to work through it, so I guess there’s a silver lining.”
Connor smiles a little at this. “I get why you were scared off dating for a bit, then. But what about now? Are you ready to be in a relationship?”
A long stretch of silence follows his words as I run into this question like it’s a brick wall. I’ve known that finding me a match is the entire goal of the show, but I haven’t internalized it at all. If Connor and I are successful, it will be more than just entertainment for my target audience. I could end up with a lover, a boyfriend, a soulmate. A chill climbs up the back of my neck, and Connor sees the shiver pass through me.
“I think so,” I say, willing it to be true.
Connor balls up the last taco wrapper and drops it into the paper bag. “When you met those Base and Silver Matches, tell me what you were looking for. What worked for you? What didn’t? Basically, who am I looking for when I start casting tomorrow?”
“Well, I want to know who they voted for and where they stand on several political and social issues. I know I’m supposed to say that I can look beyond that, but I know I don’t work that way. There are some things that are nonstarters for me, and overt political questions aren’t on the DNADuo intake forms.”
He nods and pulls out his phone to write in his Notes app. “I agree.”
“And I guess I want what most women want: someone who makes me laugh and doesn’t take themself too seriously. Someone who’s ambitious but good, who’s supportive of me and the things I love. But mostly, I want us to be head over fucking heels for each other.”
I look out over the water and think of Jess’s face when River walks into the room. It’s the same way my dad’s eyes light up when he sees my mom; it’s how completely whipped my brother-in-law is for Alice. I know what love looks like—and I’ve written it so many times—but I’ve never felt it myself.
He looks at me across the table. There’s no judgment in his eyes, no pity, only empathy and compassion. “Those seem like pretty reasonable requests.”
“I have no idea what this will be like, but I hope I end up being what you wanted for the show. I’d started to wonder if maybe I was going to find peace with being single. I was wrapping my head around that when we first met that day in your office, you know?”
“Yeah,” he says with gentle understanding.
“I also think we both said yes to this project for reasons that weren’t all about us.”
His eyes meet mine and I see unspoken agreement there.
“I was worried North Star had no idea what they were doing,” I say. “I thought you were a dick.”
This time his “Yeah” is carried on a laugh.
I grin at him. “See? Core assumptions. I don’t think that anymore, if that helps.”
Connor offers a knowing smirk. “It does, thank you.”
I don’t say the other part out loud, that not only do I not think he’s a dick, I’m actually deeply attracted to him and wonder if I can ignore it for the sake of the show.
I know myself. It’s unlikely.
We gather our things and I use the public restroom while he waits for me nearby. When I return, he’s ending a call. “Everything good?” I ask.
“Just saying good night to my daughter.” He motions for me to lead the way as we head back toward the car. It’s one of the most beautiful nights in recent memory. The air is warm, heavy with condensation; the briny ocean breeze feels like a gentle cloak.
“This weather is so perfect,” I say, taking this last moment to soak it all in. I’m finally coming back into myself and the beast part of me wants to throw myself into his arms just to thank him, to tell him he has no way of knowing that he’s helped me just by being attractive and laid back and a good listener. But I manage to contain the impulse, continuing only to say, “I want to stuff this happiness in a pie crust and eat it with ice cream.” I close my eyes, pretending to take bites of the sky, “Nom, nom, nom.”
When I look back at him, he’s staring down at me with an unreadable expression.
A haze of electricity settles around us and I don’t know where to look. My eyes keep getting dragged back to him, to his throat or lips or shoulders or those massive hands. I’m never in the gray area like this, where I’m attracted, and I think he’s attracted—but I’m not sure—and even if he is, I don’t think we’re supposed to do anything about it. My romantic life before, I realize, has been so black-and- white. Accept or refuse. Take to bed, or don’t. No subtlety, nothing nuanced.
At his car he reaches past me, and it’s only after I’ve tilted my face to his that I realize he’s not coming in for a kiss. He’s unlocking the door for me. But then he doesn’t pull back immediately. He stares down at me, looking a little lost.
“Should we head home?” he asks.
“I guess.”
Even coming from San Ysidro, the drive is too short, and I watch out the window as the car slows at my curb. Connor looks at me across the console, and it suddenly feels like making out, this eye contact, the way his gaze softens and makes a circuit of my face. But then he sucks in a sharp breath, turning and bursting out of the car.
Okay.
I follow him out and we make a slow death march to my front door. “You okay?” I ask.
“Great.”
“That was some night, huh?”
He laughs but doesn’t say anything.
Now we’re on my porch. “Are we gonna pretend it didn’t totally feel like a date?”
He turns to face me. “Good practice for you,” he says lamely.
I reach up, daring him to dodge my touch, but he doesn’t. He lets me brush his hair off his forehead. “Wear your hair like this more often.”
“It’s messy.”
“It’s great.”
“It gets in my eyes,” he says, more quietly.
“It’s sexy.”
He closes his eyes. “Fizzy.”
“Come inside.”
Slowly, he opens his eyes again and his gaze dips to my mouth. “What for?”
“You know what for.”
He laughs, but it’s not out of amusement or mockery. It’s a laugh of defeat. It’s agreement. And for a flash I’m elated.
But then he says, “You know we can’t.”
“Technically we can. My contract prohibits me from dating or any outside romantic involvement only during filming. I checked.”
“Fizzy. We absolutely cannot.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. And they’re hidden but I remember them like they’ve been imprinted in my retinas, and all I can think about is those big hands gripping me, walking me backward, bossy and directed, pushing me up against a wall or down on a bed. His strong arms bracing over me, those long fingers exploring. I want him above, blocking out every light source. I want to know nothing but the heat and scent of his skin, the rough sounds he makes when he comes.
“Why not?” I aim the question at his throat and it bobs with a swallow.
“You know why. Our goal is to find your soulmate. I already—” He breaks off. “We can’t.”
“The show hasn’t even started yet. Consider it more homework.” I reach forward, rest my hand on his side. God, he’s so solid under my touch. “Finding joy. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“That’s not what concerns me.”
“It’s been so long,” I admit. “I’m so relieved to want this. I—”
“Fizzy.”
“Trust me. I’m great at compartmentalizing.”
“That’s the thing,” he says, and bends to press a soft but definitive kiss to my jaw. “I’m not.”
