Wrong Place, Right Time

by Elle Casey

  I like the way he’s described the people who are on the site. People like me. Now I don’t feel quite as dorky as I did before. “It is really hard to meet people, especially when you have kids.”

  “Tell me about it . . .” It seems like he has more to say on the subject, but then he just stops and looks away.

  “So you’re on the site, huh?” A devious idea pops into my mind. I start clicking with the mouse.

  He leans over. “No, no, no-no-no.” He tries to grab the mouse out of my hand, but I put my arm up to block him.

  “Stay away. Nobody touches my mouse.”

  “You’re not going onto my profile, are you?”

  “Of course I am.” I can’t keep the smile out of my voice. “I want to see how you’ve described yourself.”

  He’s laughing and moaning at the same time. “Oh, God, why would you do that to me?”

  “Because. I’m having a hard time figuring out how to do my profile. Maybe if I look at yours, it’ll inspire me.”

  He laughs. “Other than both of us having kids, I cannot imagine that you’ll find any similarities between the two of us.”

  I know he didn’t mean to be rude, but it makes me sad to hear him say that. I thought we were more compatible than that.

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  “We do have the same sense of humor, though,” he says.

  “Well, I think you’re funny.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Funny looking.” I giggle. This is a joke I learned from my children.

  He puts his hand over his heart. “Oh, man, that was cold.”

  I reach out and put my hand on his arm and pat it. “Just kidding.” I take my hand back and click on some more areas on the site. “Sorry, but my sense of humor is at third-grade level right now.”

  “Okay, I’ve got one for you.” He leans in and stares at me. “What’s the worst part about eating a vegetable?”

  I think about it for a few seconds, and unable to come up with something that might sound clever, I give in. “I don’t know.”

  “The wheelchair.” He winks at me.

  My hand goes up to my mouth. I can’t believe he just said that. “Oh my god. That was so bad.”

  He leans back a little, holding on to the top of the chair. “Yeah, it’s handicap humor. My son is an expert.”

  That strikes me as both really wrong and totally not PC. But I can’t imagine Dev is the kind of parent to joke about handicapped people with his young, impressionable son. “Is it some kind of stage he’s going through?”

  “You could say that.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t want to ask any more questions about it. I don’t want him to think I’m judging his parenting, even though at this point I’m finding it a little weird.

  I turn my attention back to the computer where I’m entering the search criteria to try to find Dev’s profile.

  “It’s not like I put my real name on there as my username,” he says. “Like you said, there are over a million users of the site. You’re never gonna find me.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I say. “All I have to do is describe you, and it should bring up your profile in the results.”

  “You think you know me that well already?” He’s definitely throwing out a challenge.

  “We’ll see.” I smile as I click away.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  My fingers hover over the keyboard.

  “Let’s see . . . if I wanted to hook up with a guy like Dev, what characteristics would I be looking for?” It feels safe to say this, like I’m a hypothetical girl scoping him out, not myself. It’s stealth flirting. I’m totally a black heron, tricking my prey into thinking it’s nighttime with my wings spread open above the water, convincing the little fishies that it’s safe to come out and play. Gotcha, little minnow!

  “Be careful, girl.”

  I forge on, heedless of Dev’s warning. I think it’s actually spurring me on. “First of all, I have to select the correct age. I’m going to go ahead and select . . . between thirty-five and forty.” My fingers hesitate for only a moment before clicking the box. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said to me in the panic room.

  “You’re a man. That’s easy. And I assume you are looking for a woman?” I look at Dev for confirmation. All he does is shrug, but that dimple appearing on his cheek tells me that I am right once again.

  “Let’s see . . . you are a non-smoker.” I click another button. “And I would say that you are very athletic.” Another click. “And you believe in a healthy lifestyle, so you’re probably just a moderate drinker.”

  “Don’t get cocky.”

  I laugh. “Oh, I’ve only just begun, believe me.” I pause to peruse my options. “Aaaand moving on . . . let’s see. Hobbies . . .” There are several for me to choose from, and even though we’ve just met, I can already see several that apply. I click in rapid succession. “Sports. Weightlifting. Exercise. Martial arts.”

  “Martial arts? Why did you choose that?”

  I turn and look at him so he can see me roll my eyes. “It would’ve been really difficult for me to miss all fifty of those ninja swords in that room, don’t ya think?”

  “Who says they’re mine? It’s Ozzie’s place.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t strike me as the sword type. Besides, my sister said something about you being a ninja guy once, so I figured they had to be yours.”

  “Points for having excellent powers of observation.”

  I get a little giddy with pride as I turn back to the computer. “Exactly.” I wiggle my mouse to wake it up. “Okay, so where was I? Yes, I’m about to narrow down my choices even further.” I click a few more boxes. “Family-oriented. Prefers smaller group activities to large crowds.” That one I’m not so sure about, but I don’t want him to know that I’m not confident, so I just keep going.

  “Not into religious activities, enjoys other people’s cooking but doesn’t cook, does not have one favorite type of food.” Click, click, click. I turn my head to look at him. “How am I doing so far?”

  He shrugs. “We’ll see.”

  He doesn’t sound nearly as sassy as he did before, so I must be on the right track. There are a few more choices left, and I consider them carefully. I have engineered sites with huge data sets before, so I know how search results are tallied and collected. This system doesn’t look too complicated. It’s just a matter of me getting close enough, and the right combination of correct inputs will bring up the results I’m looking for.

  “Seeking . . .” Now’s my chance to describe the woman who I think Dev is looking for. This part is a little more complicated, but I think I can do it. What I’m going to do is describe the woman who I think would best suit him. He seems like a pretty self-aware guy. My guess is he’s looking for someone who would be a good match. He’s not one of those guys who’s searching for a woman who’s completely inappropriate.

  “Okay, you are seeking a woman who is between the ages of thirty and forty. I suppose you would prefer that she be athletic and fit, but I think you’d be willing to take someone who’s not really there yet, because you enjoy working out so much that it would be something you’d want to share with somebody and help them discover.”

  “Very nice.” I can see him nodding out of the corner of my eye.

  Encouraged, I continue. “You are interested in someone who likes small group activities versus large group activities. You are also okay with a woman who has children. And you’re looking for someone who likes the outdoors, who likes sports, and who has a good sense of humor.”

  There are several other criteria I could select at this point, but I don’t want to go too far and accidentally exclude him. I think I’m doing pretty well with what I have. The final thing I need to do is select a geographic region.

  “Where do you live?” I ask.

  “Oh, no, no, no. You have to find me on there. On the site. You have to describe me to find me.”

  “Yeah, but where you live has n
othing to do with you as a person, as a candidate for a dating site.”

  “On the contrary. Where a person lives says a lot about them.”

  I shrug. “Fine.” I click on the geographical region that puts him within fifty miles of the warehouse. Done. “Okay, then, we’re all set. You ready to go?”

  “I was born ready.”

  I click the Search button, feeling silly that my pulse is racing a little. There’s a little heart icon spinning on the screen, telling us that the results are being gathered. It’s taking a lot longer than I expected it would, but this is encouraging. I think it means that the list is going to be short.

  I turn to look at him. “You know you could just give up now. Admit defeat.”

  He laughs. “I could say the same for you. It’s not too late. The results aren’t in yet.”

  I shake my head. “Huh-uh, forget it. I am so going to win this.”

  The heart icon finally stops spinning and a new window pops up with a list of candidate profiles. Each one is a single line with a quote from the beginning of their personal statements. There are no pictures and no real names, just usernames.

  “Oh, ho ho!” I say. “A new level of challenge to the game.” I scan down the list, seeing if anything jumps out at me. There are two that look particularly promising, but because it’s such a small snippet of what the person has put about himself, there’s no way for me to be sure until I click on the links and read more.

  I look at Dev again. “Care to raise the stakes?”

  “What were the stakes exactly?”

  I have to think about that for a second. Did we have stakes? I can’t even remember what got us in front of this computer together now. “Actually, I have no idea.”

  “Dinner?”

  I’m confused by his response. “The pizza? You already paid for it.”

  “No, not the pizza. Another dinner. Winner gets treated, loser pays.”

  I nod. Now we’re playing for realsies. And this is something I can actually enjoy. I mean winning is awesome, but winning a meal with a hot guy is better, even if it’s just a friend thing. “You’re on. So, what’re the rules?”

  He shrugs. “You tell me.”

  I like that I get to be the one to decide how we play the game. With great power comes great responsibility; I learned that from Spider-Man. “Okay, so we have a list of candidates here, and I suspect that of the people on this list, you are one.”

  I wait for his response, but he’s like a world-class poker player the way he has zero expression on his face. Dammit.

  I continue. “I will keep it like this where I can’t see any photographs, and using just these simple one-liners I will select my top three choices. These will be the three people who I believe could be you.”

  “I thought you were supposed to pick me right off the bat.”

  I hold up a finger. “Let me finish. Right now all I can see is a single sentence, which isn’t much to go on. So I will click the Read More links on only three of the candidates, and I won’t look at the photos. And after I have read the details on those three candidates, I will tell you which one is you.”

  “How can I keep you from looking at the photographs?”

  I scan the site really quick and point at the screen. “Look. You can choose to browse without photos. That way, there’ll be no cheating.”

  “I can deal with that.” He looks very happy with himself.

  We’ll see who’s smiling when this is all over. “Ready to go?”

  His grin is so big, I’m suddenly very suspicious. “Oh, yeah, no doubt,” he says. “Let’s go. I’m definitely ready to have a delicious free meal. Did I mention I have a big appetite?”

  The deal has been struck and the challenge laid down. Unfortunately for him, it will be me enjoying a delicious dinner paid for by him, not the other way around. Ha!

  I scroll through the twenty-four choices I’ve been given, making sure to de-select the photo option. Most of the profiles’ one-liners are too corny to have been written by Dev; at least thirty percent of them mention how they like long walks on the beach or reading poetry. Bleck. Dev is way more original than that.

  There are actually five double-click possibilities. I chew my lip as I try to decide which three are more likely. I finally eliminate two when I see that they lack the more unique romantic vibe that I think Dev might have inside him. He could have left me in the dust at the warehouse, but his first priority was convincing me to let him play savior. That’s knight-in-shining-armor material right there.

  I’m now left with three candidates. The first ad’s one-liner says: ‘Still looking for my favorite person.’ The second ad says: ‘I believe in love at first sight.’ And the third ad says: ‘Take my hand, and we’ll wander off somewhere together.’ I delete all but those three candidates from the screen and swivel my chair sideways to face Dev. “Okay, I’m almost there. One of these is you.”

  “You think so?”

  A sliver of doubt slides through me when I see the look on his face. But I ignore it, because I know I can’t lose in this game. Either he pays or I do, but we’re going out to dinner together.

  I turn so my back is to my computer. “Go ahead and click on the first one and make sure there’re no profile pictures showing. I don’t want to see a picture of your face and be accused of cheating.”

  He picks up his chair and moves it closer to the desk. “You mean you don’t want to see a photograph of some dude that’s not me.”

  “Whatever.”

  I put my hands over my eyes and inhale when he leans in close to me. I can smell his laundry soap, or maybe his cologne. It’s very sexy, and way too tempting. I make myself stop breathing so that I don’t get mesmerized and say something stupid. The sound of my mouse clicking comes, and then the smell of Dev disappears. I can breathe again, but it’s not nearly as much fun.

  “Okay. You’re on the Read More page and there’s no photograph.”

  I open my eyes and move my hands away so that I can turn around and read what’s on the computer screen. There’s a long paragraph written by a mystery man who’s looking for love. He’s describing the perfect date. It could be Dev, but then again, I’m not sure. I need to withhold my decision until I’ve read them all.

  After I’ve absorbed everything there, I turn and cover my eyes again. Dev does his part of the deal by selecting the next profile and verifying there’s no photo. He probably doesn’t need to do that anymore, but I love having him move in close.

  I turn around at his signal and quickly scan the page, knowing within seconds that this one is not him. “You can delete this one. This one isn’t you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Don’t try to throw me off the scent. I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” he says. “If you say so.”

  The third and final candidate is now on my screen with a big question mark where his profile photo would be if I hadn’t de-selected that option. This one and the first one are so close, I almost can’t tell them apart.

  “This is really tough.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because. These two guys are like the same person.”

  “I don’t see it.” He leans in and squints at the screen like he’s trying to glean a deeper meaning from it just by getting closer.

  I point at the second paragraph. “Look. Both of them say that they are looking for a woman with an adventurous spirit and a certain je ne sais quoi.” I snort. “Who says that?”

  “We live in New Orleans,” he says. “You can expect to see a little fancy French once in a while.”

  “Not from a guy. Not like this.”

  He turns to face me. “You’re trying to get out of our bet, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. I just have to figure out which one of these is you, that’s all. And I’m just saying . . . it’s weird that they’re so similar.” I look at him sideways. “Do you have a twin brother you haven’t told me about?”

  “N
ot that I’m aware of.”

  I shake my head slowly at him. “You’re messing with me. I know I’m right.”

  He laughs. “You seem awfully confident that even one of them is me. I think you’d better consider surrendering before you commit any further to your failure.”

  I shrug and go back to the computer, feeling sad all of a sudden. “I’m not really the surrendering type.” It’s why I stayed with my ex for so long. I should have gotten out after Sophie was born, but I stuck with it. It’s not all bad, though; I have two more angels under my wing.

  His voice softens. “Well, that’s something to be proud of.” He’s not mocking me, even though he probably should be. I have no idea why that lame statement popped out of my mouth. Am I looking to throw a pity party or something? Gah. Talk about a cold shower.

  He clears his throat as if he’s about to say something else that will embarrass me even more, but I stop him by speaking up.

  “Okay, pay attention now. I’m about to make my decision.”

  He starts strumming his two forefingers on the desk, enhancing it with sound effects from his mouth. “Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duh, duuhhh . . . and the winner is . . . ?”

  I click on the last one, opening the profile up completely again. “This is you, Dev.” I slide the mouse over to click on the link that will reveal the photograph, but Dev’s hand on my wrist stops me before I get there.

  “Before you do that, tell me why you didn’t pick the first one.”

  My wrist is getting tingles where he’s touching it, and I suddenly feel very warm all over. When I turn to look at him, his face seems like it’s just inches away. My breath comes out kind of whispery. “Because the other guy seemed sad or something, and I don’t see you as a sad person. Besides, I have to assume your son is your favorite person, so . . .”

  He pulls his hand away and backs up, his expression blank—a mystery.

  I click the link on the third ad and find a stranger’s face staring back at me. My face falls. “Oh, poo. I really thought I had you.”