Page 6 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
“They’re fantastic. Also, hello, online-poker fiend. What do you say to a game before this show gets on the road?”
Smiling, I take out my phone and tap open my poker app. “What’s your screen name? I’m ready to take you down.”
“HotRodLover.”
I sputter. “That’s your handle?”
She shrugs. “It fits me.”
“A little double entendre there?”
“Shame on you,” she says with a smirk. “And yours?”
I smile, eyeing my getup. Joe is right. Once a suit, always a suit. “LuckySuit.”
We play a round on our phones. She beats me with an ace high, and then I even it up with a pair of kings. As the next hand is dealt, she looks my way out of the corner of her eye, asking as nonchalant as a cat padding into a library, “By the way, what ever happened to that woman you were seeing in New York?”
Briefly, I picture Isla, the clever investment banker I was seeing in Manhattan for a few months. She was pretty, witty, and chatty, all traits which attracted me, but eventually we ran out of topics to talk about. There are only so many conversations on the fluctuations in the financial markets that one man can bear listening to. Now, if she’d wanted to talk about the fine differences between rock music and indie pop, between Camus and Descartes, or between the work-to-live and the live-to-work approaches to life, we’d have shut every bar in the city down, chattering on well past the midnight hour.
“Things didn’t work out with Isla. We didn’t have too much in common. You know how it goes.”
“You need someone who wants the same things. Who likes to think about the same things. You want someone who thinks.”
“It’s like you can read my mind. I believe that’s the key to dating success. Opposites don’t attract, in my opinion. That’s for magnets. With people, like attracts like. Also, your turn.”
She plays one more hand, and I win with a trio of threes. She snaps her fingers. “But let’s shoot a selfie for my Instagram feed. The boy who vanquished me in online poker.”
“Thirty-two, Jeanne. Thirty-two.”
She waves a hand. “Still a boy.”
“Also, how the heck do you have an Instagram feed?”
“I don’t let anything pass me by. Just because I’m seventy-five doesn’t mean I’m not hip. I need someplace to post my cars.”
She leans her head next to mine and snaps a shot of us, complete with wide, cheesy grins. “There. Jeanne and the Lucky Suit. By the way, have I mentioned that my granddaughter is single?”
This is not the first time she’s mentioned her granddaughter. “Is that so?”
“That is indeed so.” She shows me a photo of a lovely brunette with the cutest glasses and a spray of freckles all over her cheeks. Her hand is wrapped around a telescope.
“She is one smart lady, never met a question she won’t ask, loves to stargaze, and, wouldn’t you know, she just got into online dating.”
I shudder. “I will never ever do online dating.”
“Really?”
I raise my right hand. “Swear to God. You don’t know what you’re getting into, or if they’re who they say they are. And it’s missing that certain je ne sais quoi of meeting someone in person and knowing if you have an actual connection and chemistry.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Why is that a shame?”
She frowns. “Just think about all the women you’re missing out on. All the chances you’re not taking.”
“Chances to have a date blow up in my face.”
“Now that’s not true. For instance, did you know that fifty-five percent of women say they only date men they meet online? They worry about the type of men they meet in person. The days of meeting people at bars is well over.”
“Where’s that stat from?”
She stares at the clear blue sky, tapping her chin. “I think I saw it in some Psychology Today survey. It got me to thinking—if you don’t try online dating, it’s sort of like playing poker without the suit of diamonds. Think about all the hands you’d miss out on.”
Soon enough the auction begins, Jeanne snags the Camaro, and I leave wondering if there’s a winning hand I’ve yet to encounter.
Later that night, I get online.
3
Kristen
I’m a glass-half-full person. And with my glass of iced tea, I’m eager to see what awaits me online.
Tablet tucked under my arm, cool tumbler in hand, I head to my deck and park myself next to my favorite thing—my trusty telescope.
“Hi, Nicolaus.” I named the scope after one of my favorite scientists. After all, Nicolaus Copernicus did discover that Earth revolved around the sun, which is kind of a big deal.
I set down the tablet and glass, thread my fingers together, and crack my knuckles. I tap on the screen. “All right, algorithms of love. Who do you have for me tonight?”
A warm breeze blows by as I click open my dating profile.
