Patrick. 32. He seemed a bit.. messy, to put it kindly, but it was good enough for you. Swipe right.

An almost immediate ping from your phone read a Tinder notification; a new match with Patrick. The two of you talk, as people usually do. He seems a bit insistent; rushed — but you don’t pay much mind to it. Perhaps he was a busy man. It did read in his description that he was a tennis player.

The following weekend comes quickly, and you find yourself on a first date with Patrick (Zweig, he said his last name was. He asked if you’d heard of him. You hadn’t). He’s charming, and he’s quick with a joke, but you’re not too sure he’s all that interested. His mind seems elsewhere. Which is odd, because he happened to be the one asking you all the questions.

You’re speaking about your occupation, eyes flickering to the side for a split second and before you know it, Patrick’s leant over the table, taking ahold of your jaw and kissing you.

At a table.

In a public setting.

Without any warning.

And boy, oh boy, he wasn’t wasting a second.