“Hard pass,” Kyle said, as he passed the pitcher of Miller Lite across the table. “Her eyes are too far apart.”
The guys sat on the outdoor patio at their favorite happy hour spot, Barley & Hops. The pitchers were always cold, and their favorite bartender worked happy hour every Thursday. Somehow she always wound up sending a few Fireball shots their way before the night was over, and this night was guaranteed to be no different.
It had been a long week for all of them. It was the first day that the weather hadn’t been cold and overcast in what seemed like ages. It was a cool 55 degrees out, but the patio had the heaters on. No better time to post up and do a little Bumble roundtable.
“Whatever, dude. She’s a personal trainer. I bet she’s got ass for days. I’m going right,” he said, as he swiped his finger across the screen of his iPhone.
“Jesus, dude, you are a douche. She’s got that crazy look in her eyes, like you’ll wake up one night to find her digging through your dresser drawers, or some shit. Not speaking from experience, or anything,” said Kyle, cracking a smile.
The whole table erupted in laughter, remembering Kyle’s crazy ex, Tiffany, who spent some time at Kyle’s apartment after they had broken up, tearing clothes out of his closet and throwing them around his bedroom.
Forrest poured himself a glass of beer, spilling a little bit onto the white-washed wooden table, and looked over his Wayfarers at his friends. He put the glass to his lips and cleared his throat. “Ahem…yeah, so, when are you gonna fill us in on this Macy thing, man? What’s going on there?”
He adjusted his brand new Cubs hat uncomfortably and looked around the table at curious and expecting eyes. “Fuck, man. Nothing’s going on. She’s still as psycho as ever. Nothing even happened, really.”
“Oh okay,” said Kyle. “And that’s why you’re liking her fucking Instagram pics and keeping her on Snapchat.
“Dude, if I wanted to call her, I have her fucking number. I’m not interested. Besides, I still have that redhead’s number saved. Might call her up and see if she’s down to clown.”
The guys chuckled and launched into more ex-girlfriend horror stories. He relaxed a little bit, glad they were done asking him questions about last weekend’s events. He pulled Bumble back up and started swiping absentmindedly. He never checked bios, he didn’t give a shit what they said. He rarely even looked past the first picture. He swiped left and right quickly, barely paying attention to the faces in the pictures, mostly just looking for cleavage or bikini pictures. He swiped right on a woman wearing a low-cut black tank top and holding a cocktail shaker. A notification popped up as his phone vibrated, indicating a match.
“Holy shit, guys,” he exclaimed. “It’s the bartender.”
The table erupted in laughter, each of them grabbing for the phone to see the evidence.
“This is hilarious, dude. You have to bang her. Do it for the story,” said Forrest, as he shook his head incredulously.
“Honestly, if you don’t, I will,” said his buddy Logan.
He looked around the table at his friends with a sly smile.
“I’m never paying a fucking tab here again,” he grinned, lighting a cigarette. .