“Hmm, that’s tough.” I spin the stem of the glass. “What about professional, or athletic? Those fit.”

“Professional sounds too stuffy, like I sit behind a desk all day and tell people what to do.”

“Is that accurate?”

“Not currently, no. And athletic has other implications. I don’t want people to think all I want to do is go for runs and pump iron and look at my own reflection.” Pierce clicks animal lover.

“Do you have a lot of pets?”

“I have a rescue dog.”

“That’s sweet.”

“That’s me, sweet as pie.” He flashes a grin and moves on to intent. “Wow. So there’s a category for looking for marriage, huh? That must be for the superserious online daters. Don’t want to give any mixed messages, I guess. Is that what you picked?”

I shoot him a dirty look. “I put dating, but nothing serious.”

“Really? I would’ve pegged you more for a relationship kind of woman, not the casual hookup kind.”

“Guess you pegged me wrong.” He’s not wrong, actually. As much as I might like a boyfriend, I have some trouble staying in a relationship once I’m in one. Being open and honest with a background like mine proves difficult. The last serious relationship I had went up in a ball of flames when I stupidly trusted the guy enough to tell him things I obviously shouldn’t have. Hence, I want to date, but not get to the point where I have to share. Besides by putting “dating, but nothing serious,” I think it casts a wider net, even if I only date one guy at a time.

He moves on to the question about his longest relationship. I’m surprised when he scrolls to over three years. That’s a long time to be with one person. My longest relationship was almost two years, but that was in high school. Since then I haven’t made it past seven months. I wonder what happened to end his, and who initiated the breakup. I decide it was probably him. I imagine she wanted to settle down and he wasn’t ready to commit.

I avert my gaze when he moves on to income. Based on his credit card, it has to be pretty significant. You can’t get a black Amex without a hefty bank account. When he finishes the survey portion, he moves on to the description. “I feel like I’m writing my Miss America Pageant speech.” He types away for several minutes before he finally hits submit. “Now what?”

“You can check for matches.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly so nervous.

“I don’t want to check for matches. All I want to see is how compatible this site thinks we are.”

“Then I guess you pull up my profile.”

“Which is what?”

“JustBeachy90.”

“You didn’t use your name?”

“Are you kidding? Never use your real name on a dating profile unless you want some creep to knock on your door in the middle of the night.”

“Is that from personal experience?”

“No. I’ve heard some horror stories.”

“Right, okay.” He pulls up my profile and frowns.

“What?”

“That can’t be right.” He turns his phone toward me. “Is this you?”

I chuckle, but part of me is disappointed. We have a two out of ten. “Yup. That’s me. Guess we’re about as incompatible as two people can get.”

“You must’ve filled out the questionnaire incorrectly, then.” Pierce slips his phone into his pocket. “If you’d done it right, we’d be a ten out of ten, and Terry would be a one at best.”

“You’re unreal, you know that?”

“I’m just saying … you and me? There’s something here. But you and Terry? Not even a little bit of anything.” He’s so relaxed and confident it’s infuriating. And a turn-on, but mostly infuriating.

“Chemistry and compatibility aren’t the same thing,” I argue.

“Ah! So you admit we have chemistry.”

“I’ll admit that you’re attractive, although I’m sure you’re already highly aware of that.”

He ignores the semi-compliment. “You know what your issue is? You’re going about this all backwards.”

“How so?” If nothing else, I’m entertained by his persistence and his ridiculous arguments.

“Physical attraction is half the battle, you have to have chemistry before you worry about compatibility.”

“Maybe in the short-term, if you’re looking for random hookups. But if you want a relationship to last, then you need to be compatible, or it’s doomed to fail.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

I shrug. “People either grow together or they grow apart. It’s a lot easier to grow together if you’ve got more than orgasms to get you through the tough times.”

He regards me with curious intensity. “Well, you said you weren’t looking for anything serious, so the whole compatibility thing shouldn’t be your top priority anyway.”

I’m relieved when our food arrives and the tension is interrupted. I hate that he has a point. I’m terrible at meaningless sex, unable to separate attraction from emotional connection. But at the same time, I don’t want to let anyone get too close. It’s a conundrum.

I arrange my utensils beside my plate and smooth my napkin over my lap. I’m actually starving, not having eaten since before noon, apart from a few of Pierce’s calamari, so I have to make a conscious effort not to start shoveling food into my mouth. Instead, I carefully twist the noodles on my fork before taking a bite. It’s delicious. Probably the best food I’ve eaten in years, to be honest. Maybe since my grandmother passed away and my father took off with almost all the money and left Marley and me with a ton of debt.

I glance at Pierce, intending to ask him how his steak is, but he isn’t eating his dinner. Instead, he’s staring at me. “What?” I set my silverware down and dab at my mouth with my napkin. It comes away clean.

“You have nice etiquette.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“My mother would approve.”

I hold up a hand. “Whoa. Slow your roll, big man. This isn’t even a real date, and you’re already talking about introducing me to your mother?”

“I made no mention of introducing you to my mother. I just said she’d approve. Not even remotely the same thing.”

“Okay. Good. Just making sure. Am I going to be able to eat this without you staring at me the whole time?”

“I’ll try to minimize my visual observations.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you, Rian.”

I pop another forkful of noodles in my mouth and give him the eyebrow, to which he responds with a wide grin. Despite my reservations, I think I might actually like him.

We eat our respective meals in relative quiet, me trying not to inhale mine, Pierce apparently enjoying the heck out of his steak based on the speed with which it disappears.

I don’t want to admit it, but under the cocky front, he might be a nice a guy, and I’m a little sad that he’s only a two in the compatibility department. I also don’t want to acknowledge that he’s right about there being something between us. Some kind of frenetic energy that seems to heighten all my senses and put me on alert—in my pants.

“Rian?” Pierce dips his head and snaps his fingers. “You still with me?”