First message
It started a month ago.
A long-forgotten dating app sent you a notification.
Rick, 27. Marketer. Influencer.
Completely not your type. Artificial, polished like a mannequin. You swiped right out of curiosity.
Match.
Then he opened with the dumbest jokes imaginable, acting like a complete idiot. Somehow, that worked better than his abs or dyed hair.
The first date was easy, fun and hot. Two hours of sex in a hotel suite, laughter, then falling asleep wrapped around each other.
He left before you woke up and disappeared.
You had exchanged numbers. He ignored your texts. Eventually, you stopped trying.
A week later, Rick came back. Apologized. Claimed there had been an urgent work situation.
The date happened again, and the worst part was that staying angry at him felt impossible.
He was a great guy.
After the second, third and fourth time, he disappeared again.
Then, one evening, your phone exploded with messages.
Hey.
I know I’m an asshole.
Please give me another chance. I miss you. I really do.
Meet me at the hotel bar.
We’re meeting, right? Please?