Fatal Attractions

V

"Ooh, he's hot."

"He has four kids and is an ex convict." I protest, perusing the shady man's Tinder profile.

"It could be a typo." Aubrey grumbled, resting her head in her hand as she looked forlornly upon his chiseled jaw etched with tattoos.

"Next."

She grumbled as she swiped left onto the next profile. "Ugh, definitely not."

"Wait a second," I turned the computer to face me. "Tutor who spends his free time volunteering at the soup kitchen and enjoys long walks on beaches. He seems like a great guy."

"But look at him," she motioned to his glasses and acne covered skin. "I want a guy that slightly resembles Channing Tatum, not Jonah Hill."

I rolled my eyes. "You need to start looking past appearances or else you're going to end up that crazy cat lady everyone makes fun of."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." She clicked to the next profile.

"Why are you so determined to date?" I asked.

She sighed, turning her attention away from the profiles for a minute. "Madi, you're great and all, but I'm lonely. I need someone with a set of balls to love me."

"But why now," I whined. "I think you should wait until we have this Hypothermia thing under control because you could bring home a guy who turns out to have icicles shooting from his wrists. We need to keep the circle tight."

She turned to face me. "Then I quit."

"What?"

"If being a vigilante means I can't have a love life, then I quit." She crosses her arms challengingly.

I opened my mouth to protest when somebody knocked on the door, interrupting the lecture I was about to spill.

I slid off my stool and went to the door, spying through the peephole before opening it.

"Gigi," I smiled at my neighbor from the apartment next to us. Behind her back, Aubrey and I called her Grouchy because every time we would have a party or made a little noise, she was always at our door to tell us we were too loud. If you ask me, she needed to loosen up a little. "How can I help you?" I don't think looking at dating profiles would qualify as loud and disruptive.

"I got your mail for you," she handed me a wad of letters and magazines Aubrey had subscribed for. "You forgot to get it yesterday." That was odd, Gigi was never this nice.

"Thank you." I was about to close the door when she stuck her pale hand out to stop the door from closing, her cheap black nail polish chipping off her long index finger.

"Also, can you turn your TV down at night? The noise distracts me." She droned in her monotonous voice.

"Sure." I responded without bitch slapping her. "Is that all?"

She let go of the door, staring at me behind her thick eyeliner. "Yes."

I smiled at her and closed the door, sifting through the mail as I went back into the kitchen.

"Who was it?" Aubrey asked.

"Grouchy," I replied. "She brought our mail." I gave Aubrey her gossip magazines.

"Aw," she pouted, inspecting the cover of one of the magazines. "Patrick Dempsey is getting a divorce."

"Probably because his beautiful wife turned out not-so-beautiful on the inside."