Match Me

Chapter 9

I peered at the screen. “He likes movies, too. And camping. And he’s looking for someone with a good sense of humor. I’m funny, right?”

“Sure.” Jill leaned closer so she could see the picture. She groaned. “Oh, no. Do not pick him. “

“Why not?” I kept reading. “He’s a grad student. Cell biology. That means he’s smart. And he has a job. He works at the Arboretum. I like flowers.”

She shook her head. “He isn’t Chase.”

“I know that. His name…” I checked the screen. “His name is Bjorn.”

She snorted. “Ya, dontcha know,” she said in an exaggerated accent. She’d moved to Minnesota the summer before eighth grade and loved to mock us natives. Especially the ones with Swedish roots.

“I’ll go out with him,” I announced.

“Duh.” She stood up and padded into the kitchen. “But, I’m warning you. You shouldn’t do it. Pick someone else. Someone that won’t remind you of your ex who is currently honeymooning in paradise. With someone else.”

I flinched. “I know he’s not Chase.”

She grabbed a diet Coke from the fridge and popped it open. “Bull. I was expecting to drag you to your first date. And now you’re suddenly ready to go? Willingly? There’s only one reason you’re on it. Because he’s a dead ringer for the ex.”

“Maybe I only like blond-haired guys.” Did I? “Did you ever think of that?”

“Or maybe you’ve only ever dated one guy ever in the history of your life and he just happened to be blond.”

“Whatever.” I was quiet for a minute.

I knew the web-site guy looked like Chase and I knew that was the only reason I was even considering meeting up with him. But I also knew that, if I didn’t go on this date, Jill would badger me until I did. Knowing her, she probably would drag me, kicking and screaming, out to meet someone. Someone she chose. No, thanks. Better to just get it over with. The bonus was I could sit at dinner and gaze at Bjorn and maybe, just maybe, my vision would blur just a bit and his features would soften and I could convince myself I was on a date with the only guy I wanted to be with. Pathetic, yes. But true.

She rummaged in my cupboard and pulled out an opened package of chocolate chip cookies. “Fine. Go out with him. I’m OK with that. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Oh my God, these are stale.” She wrinkled her nose and tossed her half-eaten cookie in the trash. She wiped her hands on her shorts. “Promise me you’ll go on another date. With someone else.”

“Ugh.” I shook my head.

“Wait,” she said, holding up her hand. “Hear me out. One more person. Someone who doesn’t look like Chase. We can set both up now. One for tomorrow night and one for the next. You’ve got seven guys to choose from!”

“Tomorrow?” I panicked. “I don’t want to go out with someone tomorrow. Aren’t you supposed to, like, get to know them first? Exchange e-mails and stuff?”

Jill rolled her eyes. “Uh. No. People aren’t real online.”

“Excuse me? Then why the hell did you sign me up for an online dating service?”

She took a sip of her Coke. “Not what I meant. People can say whatever they want in emails. You’re not getting a real first impression. You need to meet in person.”

“But–”

She disappeared into my bedroom and returned carrying my laptop.

“No buts,” she said, settling next to me on the couch. “Now let’s set up a date.”

It was useless to argue. She pulled up the web site and logged me in and Chase’s doppelganger appeared and my heart tripped a little faster. Maybe this was the answer. Maybe the Universe was telling me I was supposed to be with this guy, not Chase. Somehow, wires had gotten crossed and Chase was accidentally introduced into my life and I’d gotten confused, thinking he was my soul mate. But maybe it was Bjorn all along? I’d have to pull out the tarot cards later.

Jill pecked at the keyboard. She opened a calendar and typed a message while I sat next to her, daydreaming.

By the time it was all said and done and she was packing up and wishing me goodnight, I realized two things. One: I had a date with the Chase lookalike. And two: I’d never gotten around to telling her about Paul.

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