72% Match: Apt 23B Series , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Raymond Close , Dalia Lance

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71 pages

English

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Description

The dating world can be perilous. It's much worse when you're not a good person.
Meet Chrissy and Schuyler.
Both are on a conquest to satisfy their appetites, but how they aim to do so leads to some very questionable attempts.
Chrissy is after the Adonis of her dreams. Searching everywhere including online and at the local bars.
Schuyler is trying to decide if it's worth even putting the work into obtaining a physical person at this point.
Online chats late at night only add to the drive to be opportunistic with what comes his way.

Sujets

Adulte

Romance érotique

BD Erotique

Party (canción)

En línea

Dating

Kink

Online and offline

Erotica

Party

Romance

Chat

Online

Fiction

Webcam

Informations

Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	26 octobre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781644500002
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Table o f Contents
C hapter One
Unsolicited Dick Pics
C hapter Two
Ms. Jekyll And I Wish I Could Hide
Cha pter Three
Hello M r. Perfect
Ch apter Four
It’s A Question Of Perce ived Value
Ch apter Five
Becomin g An Angel
Ch apter Six
Do You Lik e My Cock?
Cha pter Seven
Bursti ng Bubbles
Cha pter Eight
Becomi ng A Prize
Ch apter Nine
HEADLINE: I Am An Idiot.
C hapter Ten
Porn Is The Ri ght Choice
Chap ter Eleven
A Different Kin d Of Angel
Chap ter Twelve
Awkward Doesn’ t Cover It
Chapte r Thirteen
Karma Mu st Hate Me
Chapte r Fourteen
T he Freebie
Chapt er Fifteen
The P ity Invite
Chapt er Sixteen
Frosted Tits … and Puke
Chapter Seventeen
The Trainwreck
Chapte r Eighteen
Missing Th e Frosting
Epilogue
One Year Later

72% Match

72% Match

Online Dating Works... Right?
Dalia Lance
&
Raymond Cloose

7 2% Match
Copyright © 2018 by Dalia Lance & Raymon d Cloose

4 Horsemen Publication s, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover & Typesetting by Battle Goddess Pro ductions
Editor J.M. Paquette
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
PAPERBACK ISBN: 978-1-644 50-023-1
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-644 50-000-2
AUDIOBOOK ISBN: 978-1-644 50-036-1

For the Chrissys and Schuylers of the world.

C hapter One
Unsolicited Dick Pics

Chrissy
“W hy did a picture of a penis just appear on your phone?” The tone of Raquel’s voice told me she was not only shocked, but also j udging me.
I sighed, grabbed the phone off the table, and clicked on the text to see who sent it. It wa s Sean #3.
“It’s nobody,” I managed to say without sighing too much and putting the phone face down on the table just in case Sean #3 felt the need to share from a differ ent angle.
“So, you have random strangers sending you pictures of their dicks?” Now the judgment had escalated and wasn ’t subtle.
Raquel was one of those friends you have that is in the “perfect” relationship. She met her now fianc é in college, freshman year. They fell in love on their first date and wore matching sweaters to holiday parties and had couple Halloween costumes. Basically, they are the kind of couple you hate when you are single a nd lonely.
Raquel was staring at me over her pumpkin spice latte with her arms crossed, waiting for an answer. I didn’t want to give one. I was ridiculously tired of explaining myself to her. Which I felt happened each and every time we were together.
Raquel was the most “maintained” friend I have. I use the word maintained because Raquel—never call her Rachel by the way—never had a hair out of place, always had flawless make-up, and inevitably wore amazing and perfectly fitte d clothes.
I, on the other hand, seemed to always come across as a hippy art student. I am a hippy art student, or more specifically, I was one. It has been three years since I graduated with a Masters in Art History from Columbia U niversity.
The last argument in regard to dating was about how I did not believe that dating sites could correctly match anyone with stupid questions like “Do you prefer coffee or tea?” Who the hell cares? This isn’t, usually, a reason not to date someone. Also, the percentage match ratings were usually off base. Of course, we had this argument partially because I had never matched with someone above 50%.
Raquel cleared her throat to get my attention. This was not simply going t o go away.
I took another swig of my latte and tried my best to look her in the face. “It is from a guy that I went on a date with…once.” I didn’t know why I felt compelled to explain myself “Obviously, it didn’t work out.” But I always did with her.
Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips before saying, “O bviously.”
I wasn’t sure what was actually worse in this situation. The fact that Sean #3 had been one of the better dates on the list of the bad dates that I had been on recently, or that there was such a lengthy list of bad dates to ch oose from.
Raquel decided to change subjects to how it was going at work. We both worked at the same law firm in New York City. Raquel was a legal aid. I was a legal typist. My degree landed me a typist job. My parents were not very impressed since they had paid for my education. They had both believed I was getting a degree in Business with a minor in Art History. Instead, I had received a degree in Art History with a minor in Philosophy. It was an impressive education for a being a professor, running a gallery, or working at a museum. None of these jobs ever actually became available in New York, and if by some miracle they did, the job would go to someone with actual experience. I did not have e xperience.
“Did you ever end up going out with Mitchell?” Raquel asked after gossiping about several of our co-workers. Another one of the great characteristics of my friend Raquel is she loves to gossip. I would like to say we are both better people but we’re not.
“Not exactly” was my reply. The subject of Mitchell was another one of those doors I did not intend on opening with her.
“What does that mean?” Either Raquel couldn’t take a hint or my hints were so subtle that they were impossible for anyone to pick up on. My fear is t he latter.
“It means that I wouldn’t consider what happened between us ‘going out’ exactly.” I made quotations with my fingers when I said th ose words.
I had a choice in this moment: I could continue with my explanation or make her pull it out of me. I decided to make her wo rk for it.
There is something that I truly know about myself: I was never one of those people that can rip a bandage right off. I would rather wait for it to fall off instead of causing myself any pain.
“What would you consider it then?” Although Raquel was in the perfect romantic relationship, she was a very hard person to be friends with at times like this.
“I would consider it a brief meeting” was my reply. I could tell my unwillingness to give all the details was driving her a little nuts. It was nice to see the expression when this happened. It meant I was sorta winning. Patheti c, I know.
“A meeting?” she asked. “What kind of ‘meeting?’” She used air quotes t his time.
I shrugged. “The kind of meeting that involves him fucking me in the copier room at work.”
This created the desired effect of Raquel’s eyes becoming quite large and “WHAT?” issued forth from her mouth at a volume that caused most of the patrons of the coffee shop to turn th eir heads.
I took another sip of my latte.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she lowered her voice about mid-sentence. “At work? Are y ou crazy?”
This line of questioning continued for a couple of minutes. As usual, I simply let it. It was not fruitful to answer these questions until she had uttered every single one that had come to mind. Then it was best to choose the ones you felt safe answering.
As far as it being at ‘Work,’ it was widely known at Claremont, Fitzman, Waterton, Marcalls, Smith, Venderstand, Hallston, Shadearn, Mickleton, Gorden, Collins-Marks, Tracer, & Butterton: Attorneys at Law (aka Work) that you were: a) not to sleep with fellow co-workers as this can create an uncomfortable work environment and b) definitely not supposed to do it whil e at work.
The final question arrived, “So, was it any good?” and I decided it was somewhat safe to answer.
Mitchell had only been at the firm for about a year. He had graduated at the top of his class and was an up and coming corporate merg er lawyer.
In order to succeed at any law firm, you basically have to give up almost your entire life to do it. It has to become what you do until you break through and then only most of your life is consumed until you make partner. This isn’t even getting your name listed on the busin ess cards.
I, on the other hand, had to work a lot of overtime to cover the rent for the room I rented from a cousin. I was lucky; I lived in a five story walk-up about seven blocks from Times Square. It was “rent controlled” and my aunt had been on the city board so when places became available, the family of the board members found out about them first. It is very mafia-like without all the murders and money l aundering.
I decided to just simply tell Raquel the entire story of what happened with the amazing Mitchell, or Mitch which is what he asked me to call him; it just seemed easier this way.
The Mitch Encounter which I would later dub it occurred about two weeks ago. It had been a Thursday night and there were only a couple of us still at the office around 10pm. I was sitting in one of the rooms full of cubicles where they kept the typists. They had a fancier name for us which was “Administrative Specialists” which was intended to make us feel as if we are an important part of the team. Unfortunately, since the only people that knew our names were the other specialists sitting in the cubes next to us, it was j