Breathe
By Vivian Hunter
I reopened Bumble at a beach destination, one I won't reveal because my love life is a mess, but I'm not so cruel as to drag others down in the process. There I was, sliding along without much expectation, when he appeared: the James Bond of the Bumble.
Blue eyes that would make the Caribbean Sea pale, teeth so white they could be sponsored by a Beverly Hills dentist, and a smile that seemed to promise adventure and champagne. So perfect that my first thought was, "He's a fraud." But curiosity won out, and I accepted the appointment.
James Bond (because I don't even remember his real name) asked me to meet him at a Starbucks. Why did I let him choose? Good question. My only thought was, "If something goes wrong, at least I can run out with my latte in hand."
I arrived early, as usual, because I like to assess the terrain before the enemy arrives, I mean, the date. I was sitting with my coffee when I saw him walk in, and for a second, I forgot that I'm a mature, independent woman. He was even more handsome than in the pictures! And yes, before you ask, he had all his teeth.
We sat down to talk, or rather, I sat down to try to figure out what was behind that model's face and he sat down to practice his Spanish. Because, yes, that was his big goal in Bumble: to find someone to teach him Spanish.
"You speak it very well," I said, "How long have you been in Mexico?"
"A couple of months. But I want to get better, because I don't understand everything," he replied with a smile that honestly would have melted even the ice in my coffee.
And what was he doing in Mexico? According to him, he was working online from his rented apartment, but he couldn't stay long because he had no papers. While he was talking about conjugations and subjunctives, I was busy wondering what he was hiding. Because, of course, at Bumble everyone lies.
"Why don't you give out your phone," I asked, trying to read between the lines.
