“Think of it like real-life improv.”
The notion would be laughable if Lily hadn’t consumed so much wine. As it were, the roommates were two-thirds of their way through a second bottle of Shiraz—a gift from Marlene’s ex—and Lily was currently feeling every drop. If anyone else had suggested it, wine-drunk or not, Lily would have scoffed at the idea. But Marlene was an actress too, or at least, attempting to be one, just as Lily was, so she knew the suggestion came from a genuine, albeit strange, place, rather than mocking commentary that she could have expected (and would have received) from her sister and ex-best friend.
It was a regular Friday-night tradition of theirs to scour Tinder and consult each other about which way to swipe. Some nights, they got more liberal with their right swipes as the wine bottle emptied, and other nights were the opposite. Tonight fell in the former category.
“I don’t know, Mar,” Lily said, topping off their glasses with the last of the bottle. “What kind of guy would have this in his profile? The only thing in his profile, mind, besides an apparently made-up career at… Sleekeazy, whatever the fuck that is supposed to be.”
“He is fit, though,” Marlene countered, and Lily couldn’t disagree.
Despite the entirety of “James, 29”’s profile being blank, the handful of photographs uploaded painted a rather appealing picture—a couple of which included a very shirtless man on a football field, and she was certainly a good enough actress to fake her way through an interest in football for abs like that.
“Besides,” Marlene continued, now thumbing through an app on her own phone, “what’s the worst that can happen?”
“Besides being murdered, you mean?”
Marlene waved the comment away, as if to say well, obviously, but what else? “Swipe right, Evans. Live a little.”
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