The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(3)

“What kind of profile?” I already know. I know where this is going. It’s where nearly all of our conversations end these days.

“A dating profile.” Ding ding ding.

“Jesus, Q, no.” This has been going on for three years now. The day I hit 30, my sisters decided I needed a wife and kids to keep my life exciting and happy. But I disagree. I’m satisfied with my life. Happy to be working on cars, living simple, going out for beers with friends, and just… being. Eventually, I want all of it, what they have—the family, the kids, the white picket fence. But profiles and apps and countless first dates sound painful. I’m just waiting for the moment the perfect woman falls into my lap.

That’s not too much to ask for, right?

“Luke—”

“No, Quinn. I’m not going on some weird catfish crazy swipe right app. It’s not for me.”

“Luke, seriously, listen—”

“When I decide to find someone, I’ll do it the old-fashioned way. I’m not looking for hookups, and I know you mean well, I do, but you’re so far out of the dating scene. You lucked out, found Ty back before the apps and complicated dating. It’s just a lot of trial and error, and I don’t want to spend months having first dates that lead nowhere.”

“Luke, shut up for two seconds, God. It’s not an app, and you don’t have to do anything at all. You’ll only be set up with good matches looking for something serious. If you don’t want to go on a date after that, don’t. Hell, you’re so boring there’s a chance you won’t make it past the screening before anything happens.”

“Screening?”

“If you’d shut up for two minutes, I would have told you it’s not an app, and you do nothing. Just go on two dates and then you’ll get set up. Unless you fail because you’re secretly a waving red flag. But I’m telling you now, if that happens, Tara and I are going to kick your ass.” I sigh, having heard this before. I was raised in a loving household with happily married parents and two older sisters. My dad taught me how to wine and dine, throw a ball, and get my hands dirty in an engine, but my mom and sisters taught me how to treat a woman.

They showed me the ropes: from holding doors open to how to treat a woman when she’s emotional to making them feel good about themselves to the right way to break up.

Once, Quinn heard I’d broken up with a high school girlfriend via text message. When my mom picked me up that day, all three were in the car. We sped home and they ripped me a new one, telling me they wouldn’t endure having that kind of man in their family.

When I tried to get my dad on my side, he’d sat me down.

“Son, one day you’ll have someone in your life, and you’ll realize you’d do anything to keep her happy, even if it means letting her sit your son down and bustin’ his balls with feminist chats and conversations on how to treat a woman. There are worse things, bud. Just accept it. If not for whatever future lady you have in your life, then for your old man who doesn’t want to hear his wife bitchin’ all night about the piece of scum son they’re raising.”

“I heard that, Jeffrey!” my mom had called from the other room, my sisters giggling after her, and my dad just rolled his eyes, but the smile was genuine. Because he loved her, and he’d endure this to get her, to keep her happy.

I never made that mistake again, always having any conversation of consequence face to face. It was one of many lessons I never forgot over the years.

“Fine, I’ll bite. What are you talking about?” Over the years, I’ve also found it’s easiest to let my sister get it out now than argue. At the end of the day, I’ll still have to sit through her speech, but the process is more painful if I delay it.

“I have this friend—do you remember Jaime?” I don’t, but if I admit it, I’ll get an hour-long summary of Jaime, her relation to my sister, and every interaction I have ever had with the woman, even if it was as minute as attending the same holiday party seven years ago.

“Sure.”

“Okay, well, Jaime met this guy through this matchmaker—”

“Oh, hell no. Absolutely not.”

“Shut up and let me finish. So, she met him through the matchmaker, and they’ve been married for years. Perfect couple, like they were meant to be from day one.”

“Quinn, I don’t—” I try to cut in, but she keeps on.

“So Jaime’s sister went to school with this girl, and I have the inside scoop. Usually, she finds the men to match through dating websites. Crazy, right? She dates them and vets them and then matches them up. It’s genius, really. Like cutting out the middleman to avoid the catfishes and creeps and red flags. But because she knows this girl, she told me I could just fill out an application, and if you pass her inspection, you’re in.” Like always, the words fly through the phone line with her excitement. You need a trained ear to catch Quinn’s every word on the first try.

“I don’t want to meet some matchmaker, Quinn.”

“Look, you just need to go on two dates with her. Easy peasy. Call it an early Valentine’s Day gift to your favorite big sister.”

“Christmas was just three weeks ago.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so difficult when all I’m trying to do is improve your life, Luke.”