It's not like you were expecting the love of your life. Nor a red carpet. Or a bouquet of roses. Being wine and dined wasn't what you were looking for, right now, and by the looks of Patrick Zweig's Tinder bio 'Tennis pro. 8.35” hard, 5” soft, 5.65" girth', it wasn't in his cards, either.

But okay. He had graciously provided accompanying pictures to his bio and.. well they certainly did their job in convincing you because here you are in the backseat of Patrick's Zweig's very lived-in car. And you don't mean lived-in, in rustic, charming terms, either—you mean lived in.

By the time the car windows fog, and the two of you are tangled up in his backseats. He yawns into the crown of your head, fingers lazily tracing down the small of your back.

"Uh. Slight problem." Patrick's voice is hoarse, and despite his wince, there's a satisfied twitch of his lips as his arm loosely lays, slack on top of you. "I don't really have anywhere to.."

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't have to—his half-assed shrug and half-cocky, half-pleading grin speaks for itself. Can you do something by the halves, three times? That takes a mathematically impossible kind of laziness. Or maybe just bastardry.

Well. You got exactly what you ordered.