Page 2 of Snatched
“I know. But maybe I should like, decenter men?”
“You make more than most men,” she quips. “So…just have fun. Let a man be an addition to your life.”
I sigh, still swiping while I’m chatting. Harper, for better or worse, has not steered me wrong.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“What? Did you match with a troll?”
“No.”
A 31-year-old pops up on the screen. Very cute. Very grown. Very…young.
But 31 isn’tthatyoung. And I definitely don’tfeelthirty-nine. Maybe it’s because I spent almost all of my thirties wifed up. I never sowed my wild oats, so to speak.
“It’s just…am I too old to date a thirty-one year old? I accidentally put my filter to 30 and up.”
Harper says, “Do it. Swipe. Swipity swipe swipe. Keep your heart open, remember?”
I swipe right, heart fluttering in that weird way where my brain saysthis is patheticand my body saysmaybe not.
“Okay,” Harper says, “now find your new trainer on the gym app. I want to see if he’s hot.”
“Harps. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Do it, Elena.”
I pull up the Elevate Fitness app and type his name.
Colt Evans.
His profile picture loads.
I blink.
“Oh. Oh no.”
He’s…shirtless.
Likeshould not be legalshirtless.
Shredded abs.
Golden skin.
A V-line that points to places I have not visited in far too long. One classy piece of ink on his bicep.
He looks like an underwear model on a billboard I’d politely try not to ogle.
“Is he hot?” Harper demands.
I zoom in on the photo.
“ELENA. Your silence tells me everything. You need to send me the screenshot of his pic.”
“I’m just checking his—um—credentials.”
“You’re zooming in on his abs, aren’t you?”
