Tangling the Knot

Chapter One

- Oaklyn -

Swiping right is simple, but getting a decent man takes strategy.

Online dating, in general, is a wild card. I'd imagine it like being caught in the minefield of Minesweeper. You never know when you're going to stumble upon an explosive match. It's going to take more than a stroke of luck and street smarts; it requires a backbone. This is why when my best friend deliberately asked me to be her wingwoman in the hunt to find her future hubby, I knew it was time to level up to the plate.

I've swiped left on so many guys that I am giving myself the title of a proficient heartbreaker. At least, Sailor, has me to help her dodge those online dating landmines. Who's to say? Maybe today is the day we'll strike gold and find a real gem. Or, hopefully, a gym rat who doesn't think mirror selfies are the zenith of dating profiles.

"Go back to the last one," Sailor, my best friend instructed. "No, I meant the one before that."

I paused, glancing up briefly before hitting the rewind button. Two profiles back, and there he was the so-called thirty-nine-year-old who clearly had decades on that number. I was aware that generational aging is a thing, but this is absurd. My bluff radar was off the charts; this was easily a classic case of catfish.

I cringed deeply. Sailor's taste in men was eclectic. More diverse. Though, that's the kind of thing that solidifies a long-term friendship, isn't it? When one finds a potential match a catch and the other is biting their tongue to find even a sliver of something nice to say.

"Sailor," I said.

Her orbs widened as she chewed on a swaddle of lo mein noodles. "What?" she murmured.

The incessant slurping is driving me up the wall. My patience is thinner than a pancake, all because of my DIY diagnosis of misophonia. I haven't gotten an official diagnosis, but I swear there's something to it. Either that or Sailor is just a notoriously messy eater.

"This man is nearly pushing at least twenty years older than you."

"And?"

"And . . ." I shifted my desk chair to turn my attention fully towards her. The phone in my hand becomes aligned with her vision and we're both skimming the screen in union. "This is not a husband, Sailor. This is what we call a sugar daddy."

The evidence was all there. The silvery hair, the receding hairline, the neck that told a thousand tales of years gone by. I was highly convinced that this grandad might of invented online dating as one of its founding fathers.

Sailor smirked as a curveball. I wish I could rip out my eyeballs, drench them in bleach, and pop them back in.

"Maybe that's what I want."

Reaching my patience, I tossed the phone on my keyboard mat and groaned loudly. This was getting nowhere. It was equivalent to trying to sail a ship with a broken rudder. And this is one of the reasons why 'Captain' Sailor's dating history hasn't been necessarily smooth sailing. Every time I thought we were making headway, we'd get thrown off course by another gust of wind. She kept getting caught in riptides of bad choices, tossed around by the waves of disappointment. It was as if she was destined to be shipwrecked on the shores of heartbreak, over and over again.

A best friend can only take so much before all intrusive thoughts claw to the light.

"Well, if you start getting senior citizens discounts, the least you could do is take me out for brunch," I shot back, only receiving a shaky chuckle.

I have been supportive of all her wild decisions. I deserved some sort of medal for my loyalty in return.

I took a deep breath and handed the phone back to her. "Okay, let's switch it up." I proposed a new strategy forming in my mind. "How about a game of smash or pass? We only swipe right when we both give a thumbs-up. Deal?"