Page 2 of Let's Kiss and Tell

A few nights ago, I matched with Dylan. Nothing about his dating profile was unique, but the picture of him hiking with his dog was enough to make me cave. While the stack of men’s names in my recent text history might not look great, I’m a twenty-nine-year-old journalist who writes about sex for a living. My dating life is practically a prerequisite.

Lucy:

Perfect!

I catch that it’s 5:44p.m.,which means I need to start getting ready in fifteen minutes. Luckily, what I’m about to do should take only five.

With the Cleo in hand, I cue a lo-fi jazz album and light a few candles to really add to the mood. I draw my linen curtains closed and turn on theDo Not Disturbfeature on my phone.

Making myself comfortable, I pull up a YouTube clip of a young Tony Danza fromWho’s the Boss.Specifically, one where he’s shirtless. After another clip or two, I set a six-minute timer, close my eyes, and get to work.

The Rueis an online magazine covering topics from sex and relationships to beauty, pop culture, and fashion. Among other digital publications that focus on topics like tech, food, and real estate,The Rueis owned by the world-renownedLA Journal—depending on who I’m talking to, that little detail tends to validate my credentials.

The LA Journal,along with its other co-operated sites, is in the heart of the city, and my least favorite part of Los Angeles—downtown. Downtown LA has all the grime of New York and all the crime of South LA, without being at all charming. While I would rather be anywhere else than the I-10E at eighta.m.on a Monday, I still pinch myself every time I open the doors below the striking marquee and see the publication’s name in the lobby. I love this building.

“Good morning.” A woman who looks to be in her mid-fifties steps into the elevator after me. She presses the button marked 4, and I give her a cordial smile.

“Morning.”

The elevator doors open to her floor and the woman walksout. It’s barely a few breaths long, but for the time Idocatch a glimpse of our parent publication, it feels like somethingbig.Something important.

I’ve written more than two hundred and fifty articles in my career and worked at two other well-respected women’s magazines after college. In the realm of my niche, I’m in a great place. The only problem is, I wantmore.I don’t want mealymouthed listicles about sex toys to become my legacy. I want to write clever, funny, andrealstories about my views on intimacy. I want to share my personal fuckups hoping that other women will know they’re not alone.

“Morning,” I say as I approach Jonah. He’s scrolling on his phone and sipping an almost finished iced coffee. “What’s going on today?”

“Mariah Carey interview.” He keeps his eyes glued to his screen. Jonah isThe Rue’s senior pop culture writer who’s the definition of cool. He has more followers than some of the celebrities he interviews and is mind-numbingly attractive. He has been toldmanytimes he looks like a young Lenny Kravitz. I’ve told him that he should pursue modeling, but he’s far too opinionated to keep his mouth shut for a living.

“No big deal,” I say sarcastically while throwing my purse on my desk.

“How was the date?” Jonah swivels his chair, facing me.

Because Jonah is gay and has been happily married for three years, he always gets the biggest kick out of my “messy, straight, single life,” as he likes to say.

“Uh…” I think. Last night’s date with Dylan is already a forgotten memory. “Fine? He dropped like two hundred dollars on dinner.”

“On a first date?!”

“Yeah,” I say. “But the weird part is he doesn’t have a real job.”

“What does he do?”

“He said he’s an investor?” I try to remember the words he used. “And works with a bunch of different clients.”

Jonah squints. “Sounds fake.”

“He was very vague about it,” I agree. “Red flag.”

“Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“Probably not.” I fall onto my chair and open my laptop. “But Chris texted me last night…”

“Oh my god,” Jonah laughs. “What does he want now?”

“Probably sex if I had to guess?” I shrug.

“That man needs therapy, not pussy.” Jonah takes a sip of his coffee. “My theory is that Chris is in love with you…He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

“No.” I make an uncomfortable face, because, well, the thought of that makes me uncomfortable. “He has yellow fever and likes the thrill of the chase.”