Y'all are the best. For real. Short update is short. Yes, still updating Friday (you can thank Hadley for that).

Some recs for your quarantine: (not even gonna rec Body of Christ by Belladonna and TheFictionFreak, or White Noise by hotteaforme because I guarantee y'all are already reading those gems. In fact, y'all are probably already reading everything I'm about to rec, so maybe send ME some recs?)

+The Funcle by MrsSpaceCowboy - (Cute, fun, flirty!)
+A Case of You by SparrowNotes24 - (Recently completed!)
+Hold Steady by JA Mash - (She just started posting - looks fun!)

+Scotch, Gin, and the New Girl by wtvoc & jandco - (They added a fun update after 11 years. This is a fandom must-read, so actually just exit my update and go read this story in its entirety if you haven't yet.)

"I think I have an Instagram stalker."

Jess quirks a brow, snorting a laugh before sipping her beer. We usually spend our Tuesdays enjoying half-price burgers during happy hour at King's but, in an attempt to avoid King's at all costs, I suggested we try the fish & chips place down the street. Jess agreed, thankfully.

"What the hell does that mean?" she asks, a normal reaction for what I've just said.

"Someone keeps liking my photos and leaving condescending comments. And one of their posts was—well, here." I slide my phone across the table, showing her the Starbucks drawing and explaining the situation.

"Weird," she says, drawing out the word. "And you don't know who they are?"

"No."

"Maybe it's that dick from your rival flower shop down the street."

She's poking fun at me, and I flip her off. "You mean Mike?"

"Yeah."

"I don't get that vibe. Also, this person is a tattoo artist. I don't know anyone who does that. It could just be random, I guess." I think back to the first comment that started this all. "But they said I thought you had better taste than that. Like… why did they think that? That implies they know me, right?"

"Have you asked who they are?"

Oh. Actually, no, I haven't. "That seems too easy."

"Well, try that. Or just block them," she suggests easily. I'm about to tell her I don't know if that's necessary, mostly 'cause it is a little intriguing and harmless so far, when she says, "Wait. Is he hot? Because if he's hot, don't block him."

"I don't know if it's a guy."

"There aren't any photos on their profile?" she asks, dipping a fry in ketchup.

"There are photos, just not of a person. Mostly different body parts—"

Jess perks up. "Like dick pics?"

"No," I laugh. "If that were the case I'd know it was a guy, you idiot."

"Give me your phone again." I hand it over, and she scrolls through their profile for a second time. "It's definitely a dude."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I read some of the comments from the work they've done. People are giving him so much praise and recommending him."

"Huh." The praise is well-deserved, too, which only annoys me even more.

"I still don't trust this weirdo, and I think you should block him," Jess advises. "Don't trust anyone who doesn't post selfies. That's a rule to live by. Everyone knows that."

I roll my eyes at her, but maybe she's right. Not about the selfie thing but that I should just block him.

After I finish my third beer, I decide to call it a night, make the ten minute walk home, and go over what I need to do tomorrow. I have to be up around four in the morning to go to the wholesale market since Esme is out. There's a big order that needs to be done by seven and delivered by nine. It's only gonna be me and Angela tomorrow, so I'm kind of regretting those three beers.

My phone lights up with a text.

Hey! We never scheduled that rain check. Can I make you dinner this week? Or we could try that new place we talked about near Pike Place? Just let me know… :)

I sigh.

Jake.

I cancelled our date last week. I was exhausted and menstrual and so not in the mood. Maybe if he were someone else that I'm drawn to I could've made it work, but… he's not. Don't get me wrong—he's nice, but the spark isn't there. He doesn't excite me. We've been out a handful of times, and I keep expecting something to click for me, but it never does. We kissed, and the one time I let him come back to my place, he copped a feel, but I put a stop to anything more. He thinks I want to take it slow. And I do. So slow that it can be interpreted as a dead stop.

I should tell him I'm not feeling it, but part of me also knows I'm not trying very hard. Esme's always telling me this. Maybe I'll go on one more date. One more attempt at trying to see if I can feel anything for him… and then I'll be honest.

Sure. Let's try the restaurant. I can do Saturday, like 7?

Yes! Saturday it is.

I'm only a few blocks from my apartment when I open Instagram. Scrolling through my feed, I yawn as I like different posts. My co-worker's dog. A high school friend's kid. Way too many memes. Some influencer who's trying to sell something that I'll probably buy later tonight in bed.

Then I stop in the middle of the sidewalk when I see at the top of the screen that Masenry updated his story. Since I started following him a few days ago, I haven't noticed an Instagram story from him, and I'm intrigued. I click his username and a photo of the inside of his fridge takes over my screen. It's nothing unusual, I guess, but it is pretty bare. I scrutinize the contents, counting at least eight different bottles of hot sauce. There's also a six-pack of Stella, too, which I can appreciate.

We haven't interacted since our weird coffee argument two days ago. And I don't really know why I want to strike up a conversation now, but I do.

Swannie: I'm disappointed I can't criticize your choice of beer or hot sauce.

I smile to myself. I don't really know why, either. It just appears on my face. Maybe I like fucking with this person the way they fuck with me. Regardless of the reason, I feel kind of creepy, smiling to myself, while standing in the middle of the sidewalk at night, so I continue my walk home again.

When I glance back at my phone, I see Masenry has responded. But since I commented on his story, the conversation is now private.

Masenry: Sliding into my DMs, huh?

Fucker.

Then he adds: My fridge is pretty dirty. Maybe you can criticize that?

Swannie: It's not satisfying if you offer it up so easily.

Masenry: I'm sure it's still satisfying in some way.

I blink at my screen.

I stare at the smirking emoji he's become known for sending.

I think Instagram Dude is flirting with me.

Swannie: … that was kind of a saucy comment.

Masenry: I'm a saucy kinda guy.

Swannie: Like in the hot sauce sense, right?

Masenry: Lol yeah.

Swannie: Did you actually laugh out loud at that?

Masenry: No.

Swannie: Smile?

Masenry: Yeah. Are you smiling, too?

Swannie: Unfortunately... yes.