“Wouldn’t that be weird, though?” I say. “Like I told him a fake name and then we’re on a date and I have to say, sorry but this is my real name now, and I’m actually a liar.”
“Well, you don’t have to tell them straight up,” Daniel says as he types. “You keep the fake name until you know if you like them and then you tell them your real name.”
I smirk into my wineglass as I watch him and Rebecca go through the profile.
Daniel is fun.
He hands me my laptop. “You fill in the rest.”
“Huh?”
“I filled it out for you, answer the next question.”
“What?”
“We made you a profile,” Rebecca informs me. “Just humor us, please.”
Name
Pinkie Leroo
Height
5ft7
Weight
Just right
Appearance
Gorgeous
Hobbies
Gym and working out, laughing
Favorite pastime
Eating out and having sex
Profession
Computer analytics
Hair color
Sandy blonde
Eyes
Brown
Skin
Olive
What are you looking for?
“Pinkie Leroo?” I scoff. “Who the hell is that?”
“That’s you.”
“What?” I laugh. “You couldn’t come up with a better fake name? I sound like a cheap bottle of wine.”
“Men love that shit,” Daniel replies.
“But, do they?” I read through the details they’ve added. “I thought we were lying on this thing?”
“We are.”
“Well, I do like eating out and having sex, so . . .” I shrug.
“The gym and working out part?” Rebecca raises an impatient eyebrow.
“This is ridiculous.” I slam my computer shut and stand. “I’m going to bed.” I go up on to my tippy toes and kiss Daniel’s cheek. “Goodnight, naughty boy.”
“Night. Fill in that profile, I’m checking it in the morning.”
I roll my eyes as I begin to walk up the stairs. “You just worry about your own profile, or more specifically, how easily pleased you are,” I call. “You really should work on that. Up your standards a bit.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he calls back.
“Ugh.” Rebecca winces. “I am never going down on a woman. Like fucking ever. It’s just too . . . in your face . . . literally.”
I get a really bad visual and I screw up my face with a laugh. “Stop,” I cry.
Half an hour later, I lie on my bed. I’m wrapped in a towel after showering and Daniel’s and Rebecca’s words from earlier are running through my head, and more importantly my words: I wish I was more like you.
Who am I kidding, I am free.
I don’t know where I get this notion that my hands are tied. It’s men who have preconceived ideas on what they want; they’re all just looking for the next Barbie doll.