Page 3 of Swipe My Alpha
I open the DM. My thumbs hover over the keyboard. Normally I'd lead with something dumb and suggestive. Something easy and forgettable. The Jude Park special.
But something about that bio makes me want to be less predictable.I follow instructions.He's either the most boring man alive or someone who knows exactly what game he's playing and chose the most efficient way to tell me.
I type:Instructions, huh? Bold promise for someone hiding behind a hand pic.
Send. Phone face-down on my thigh. Deep breath.
I rejoin the conversation. Benji is telling Soren about a terrible cover design a client sent him, all wrong fonts and clip art roses, and Soren is nodding sympathetically while sneaking looks at his own phone. Milo is in the kitchen now, pullingingredients out of the pantry. Flour, sugar, bananas. Stress-baking. Something's on his mind, and I make a mental note to corner him about it later.
My phone buzzes. Forty-five seconds. He's fast.
Not a promise. Just a fact. You seem like the type who'd know what to do with that.
Okay. Literate. Clever. And he actually read my profile instead of just looking at my pictures, because he clocked something about my personality that most guys miss when they're too busy staring at the photo of me in that cropped tank top.
I'm interested. I hate that I'm interested.
Depends. Are you as good at following through as you are at following instructions?
Three dots. Then:I don't start things I can't finish. But I'd be happy to let you test that theory.
My cheeks go warm. I take a long sip of my drink to hide whatever's happening on my face, but Milo catches it from the kitchen doorway. His big dark eyes narrow just a fraction. Milo sees everything. It's his most annoying and most lovable quality, and right now it's firmly in annoying territory.
"You're blushing," he says quietly.
"I'm not blushing. It's the alcohol."
"You've had two and a half seltzers, Jude."
"Mind your business, Milo."
He smiles into his tea mug and goes back to his baking. I hate my friends. I love my friends. Mostly both at the same time.
The conversation keeps going. We volley messages back and forth for the next forty five minutes while the apartment dissolves into its usual evening chaos around me. Benji puts on music, something loud and bass-heavy. Shay argues with someone on the phone about a group project, his voice going sharp and clipped the way it does when he's about to verballydestroy a stranger. Soren curls deeper into his corner, drawing something small and careful in his notebook.
And I'm texting a stranger whose words feel like they're peeling me open.
He's smart. Actually smart, not "let me quote something I saw on Twitter" smart. Every message has a sharp edge and a soft landing. He's funny without performing it. He asks me questions that aren't boring, like he actually wants to know the answers and isn't just filling space until we can talk about sex.
And when we do talk about sex, which happens fast because I'm me and I don't have a subtle gear, he matches me line for line. No clumsy segue, no awkward escalation. Just a conversation that flows from clever to filthy like water finding a crack.
So what exactly are you looking for tonight?he asks.
Someone who can keep up with my mouth, I type back.
Keep up, or keep it full?
I press my phone against my chest and bite my lip so hard I nearly taste blood. Jesus Christ.
Why don't you pick?I send, my fingers moving faster than my brain.Since you're so good at following instructions, I want to see what you do when you get to make the call.
Longer pause this time. The typing indicator appears, disappears, appears again. I watch it like it's going to tell me something important about the rest of my life, which is insane and I need to stop.
Hotel off campus. Tomorrow night. No names, no expectations. I'll book the room. You just show up and bring that mouth. And that attitude.
My pulse jumps. Something hot and electric runs through me that has absolutely nothing to do with biology and everything to do with the fact that this man just made me feel seen through a screen. And that's the dangerous part, isn't it? Not thehookup. The hookups are easy. It's the part where someone pays attention to the specific shape of you instead of the general idea.
Tomorrow works, I type.But for the record, I always bring the attitude. It's the only thing I don't take off.
