Bored by the anomaly of dating and conventionality, dating apps have become like a sport to me with one goal in mind. To be fucked. I have been this way for all my 20s. Flowing through different dating apps like water. Having small talk with men, meeting up with them, being invited to their houses, having sex, and going home the same night. I had a roster. Usually, two or three at a time. Maybe four if the vibes were right. I had a whole clothing rack of uniforms. Short, colorful dresses, skirts, shirts that exposed my breasts. Perfumes with vanilla and berry undertones. High heels that made my legs look long. I put on one of my uniforms—a pastel pink slip dress with Christian Louboutin heels I got at a dead woman’s estate sale and hailed a cab to a French restaurant in the West Village called Eclatant. His name was Mitch. He was a 44-year-old Engineer from Providence who went to MIT. He owned a condo in the Upper East Side and recommended Eclatant because it was his friend’s restaurant.

When I arrived, I was escorted to a private dining and lounge area. Mitch was sitting in a modern swivel chair manspreading and was wearing a black suit that made him look like James Bond. He rose to his feet and kissed my cheek, and we sat down at a table that stood in the center of the room. We talked about his long career as a Software Engineer at Google, and how he wants to retire in the next five years. I talked about my novel that was just published about a woman who traveled from New York to Botswana with a man she met two days ago. We ate dinner and talked for hours. About dating apps. About love. How we both want to get married soon.

After dinner and a few more drinks, Mitch and I went back to his large lofty apartment and had nightcaps. We sat on his couch he said was $20,000 but is sturdy and made to last for the rest of his and his future kids’ lives. The couch was beautiful, but quite stiff and uncomfortable. He rubbed my leg and I nestled up to him and locked eyes with him. He was perfect. His big gray eyes looked like stars and for a moment, I pictured myself spending the rest of my life with him.

Having his kids and breaking in this unconventional couch. We kissed for the first time. Then made love. I broke my rule of going home after sex and stayed the evening. We woke up and had sex again, then he went downstairs and made breakfast while I showered and got dressed. I checked myself out in the mirror. I didn’t recognize who the person was I was staring at. I felt lighter. Hopeful. Spry. This could be the start of something new between the two of us and I was ready.

*****

I made my way down the stairs and watched him move slowly. He looked beautiful glowing in the morning light. I walked up to him and he lifted me up and sat me atop of the marbled counter and we kissed. When I opened my eyes, there was a woman standing in the kitchen. She looked young.

“Who’s this?” I asked him.

“This is my fiancée, Iris. Iris, Eva.”

“Fiancée?”

“Yes. Me and Iris were dating for over a decade. We broke up a few months ago. While you were sleeping, I realized that dating wasn’t for me, and I called Iris and asked her to come back to me. How I’m ready to get married,” Mitch said. He pulled Iris into him and kissed her cheek. “You were great to talk to and fun to fuck. But ultimately, this experience led me back to Iris. So, I thank you.” I watched him and Iris kiss. He picked her up and puts her on the marble countertop like he just did to me. I grabbed my belongings and made my way out the door, called an Uber, and went back home to the Upper East Side. On my journey back, I got a notification from a man named Jared who asked me out for coffee in Chinatown at a new cafe called Delores. I looked down at myself, opened the Uber app and redirected my route to Delores, paying the extra $30 route changing fee.