Chapter Text
It was late January, fresh into their second semester, when Hannah decided she’d had enough.
“You’re wallowing,” she told Allie, snatching her phone off her from where it had been stuck on a TikTok of a couple getting engaged in Bordeaux.
“That’s what I usually say to you,” Allie replied, not denying it.
Because she had been staring desolately at the screen, her usual dopamine-boost from romance simply not firing off in her brain. She was pretty sure that she was broken. Instead of giddiness filling her whenever she saw people loved up—which was usually her reaction—she’d grown to despise happy smiles and forehead kisses, a bitterness festering in her stomach like discarded orange peel. Even Hannah, whom she loved with her whole heart, had been irritating her recently whenever she had Garrett over, their giggles creeping through the walls like a haunting echo of what Allie had lost.
“Okay, what’s happening, Al?” Hannah asked, placing her phone face-down on the opposite couch’s arm so that Allie couldn’t reach it. “You’ve been down in the dumps since we came back from Christmas break. You only leave your room to go to class, work and rehearsal. Dexter said you’ve been binning off drinks with him for weeks. You only ever hang out with me if we’re here or at Malone’s—which doesn’t count, by the way.”
Allie tugged her sweater sleeves down over her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said, not making eye contact with Hannah. God, she was such a crappy best friend.
“Hey, no.” Hannah reached a hand out to gently brush her knee. “I’m not saying all of that to make you feel bad. I just want to know what’s going on with you. You’re not yourself. How can I…how can I help? What can I do?”
“There’s nothing to be done,” she answered numbly.
“Do you think you should call Sean?” Hannah hedged. “I know we talked about you not backsliding, but maybe some closure would be good.”
Allie closed her eyes. She’d dug herself this grave, so she couldn’t even be pissed that Hannah was knocking nails into the wrong coffin. “This isn’t about Sean.”
“Then, who is it about?” Her brow furrowed. “Is it your dad?”
“It’s not my dad.”
“Your play?”
“Not the play.”
“You’re gonna have to give me something,” Hannah laughed shortly. “You can talk to me.”
“I know.” She swallowed. It was so difficult to breach the topic because she’d already kept everything a secret from Hannah. She’d hate her now, if she told her the truth. “It’s just…look, remember when we talked about me having some fun?”
Hannah grinned. “Your fling, you mean.”
“Fine. My fling,” she conceded dully.
Her roommate’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you caught feelings.”
“No, no!” Allie shut her down, trying to will her brain into not thinking about Dean saying I like you, I like us before she shattered the hope in his eyes with a simple confession. “It got messy. I was having a fling with Guy No.1, but I could feel myself…you know…nesting? Doing my Allie Thing of getting too attached and treating it like a relationship.”
“And Guy No.1 didn’t like that?” Hannah asked slowly.
“Not exactly. He didn’t seem to care.” Allie sighed, thinking back to how Dean had willingly triple-texted her, given her his clothes, and done things for her that had not felt casual at all. She’d just told herself that he must’ve treated all of his hookups like that but, when he’d run her a bath to soothe her aching muscles and he’d caught her as she’d snuck through his window, it had gradually started to feel like more. And more was usually what Allie wanted but, because she was convinced that Dean wanted less, she’d pushed him away. Now, look at her.
“Then, what was the issue?”
“I hooked up with someone else,” Allie admitted, the sting of hearing Beau ask Allie, is that who you…? still sizzling on her skin. “I freaked out. The sex with Guy No.1 wasn’t meaningless anymore, so I went and had actual meaningless sex with Guy No.2, but Guy No.1 found out and—”
Hannah grimaced. “Yeah, that’s messy. Can you stop saying Guy No.1 and No.2, though?” she giggled. “It’s really taking me out of the story. What were their names?”
Allie hesitated, momentarily considering telling Hannah the entire truth. But, she couldn’t ruin Hannah’s friendship with Dean like that; couldn’t make anything get in between her and Garrett. “Seb and Carter,” she said.
“Okay.” Hannah nodded, looking like she was musing over something in her head. “Well, forget them. They’ve clearly both made you miserable with how they handled things—”
“How do you know it wasn’t me who handled things badly?”
“Even if you did, I support your rights and wrongs,” she added firmly. “You need to stop feeling guilty about it, Al. Because I know you. You feel bad for messing them around, don’t you?”
“I…yeah.”
“Then, don’t. You’re in your hot and single era. You can afford to be a heartbreaker.”
“That’s not like me, though,” Allie protested weakly. “And yet, I’ve now successfully played in three men’s faces. Sean came over, once, after I’d just slept with…Seb. It did not go well. That was why I had sex with Carter.”
“Did Sean say something to you?” Hannah frowned.
“Oh, just something about me not being able to be alone,” Allie said, with an airiness that she did not feel.
Hannah’s expression eclipsed into outrage. “Oh, fuck that. Fuck him. That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Allie huffed out a sigh. “I slept with Seb thirty-six hours after breaking up with Sean. We fell into something that definitely wasn’t as casual as we said it would be. Then, around a week after freaking out over Seb, I slept with Carter.”
“Okay, and?” Hannah grabbed her hand. “You’re allowed to sleep around a little, Al. God only knows the majority of men do. Why should it be any different for a woman? Why should Sean attach accusations of you can’t be alone to you when, if he were to hear about Dexter having hot rebounds, he’d just dap him up and say good for you?”
“You make an excellent point,” Allie murmured.
“All of my points are excellent.” Hannah preened. “Which brings me to my next proclamation. We need to set you up on a dating app.”
Allie instantly shook her head. “Oh no. No, Han. That did not work out well for me last time. Tinder’s where I matched with all of those frat boys who didn’t use soap.”
“So, we’ll use Hinge.” Hannah shrugged, as if it was simple. She was already pulling up the app on Allie’s phone, the white-and-black logo flashing. Her nails tapped against the screen as she undoubtedly signed her up for an account, already knowing her email and password.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“That’s the best part about it. You want casual sex. It’s probably a bad idea, but you need to stop thinking that sleeping around a little is slutty. This is what you want, right? No strings? Hinge is the definition of no strings.”
“True. Okay, give me that.” Allie snatched her phone off Hannah. “If we’re doing this, then I’m posting that picture of me in the white bikini from the Maldives.”
“Deal.” Hannah peered over her shoulder as they set up her profile: Allie. 21. 5’4”. Brooklyn / Boston. Actress. Briar U. Short-term. “But, you have to also use that picture of you with the glass of white wine on the balcony—”
“Not this one?” Allie showed her a picture that Sean had taken of her in her J.Lo dress. She’d felt so hot and appreciated that night by someone who wasn’t her boyfriend and that was exactly how she wanted to feel if she was flaunting herself for sale on an app.
“Never mind,” Hannah conceded. “That one wins, without a doubt. Put this one up of me, you and Dex so that they know you have friends.”
“I have plenty of friends.” Allie shoved her playfully, and she laughed.
“Okay, now for the prompts. This is the important part. This is how people get to know you.”
“I just want casual, though,” she reminded her. “What I liked about sleeping with Carter was that we were strangers so we didn’t…owe each other anything.”
Hannah arched a brow. “Seb wasn’t a stranger? How do you know him?”
“Oh.” Allie stumbled into the trap of her lie, and fought to untangle her ankle. “He was in my Screenwriting class last semester,” she fibbed.
Hannah accepted her lie with a nod, fixated on the prompts. “I reckon let’s make it really clear, then, that you’re only looking for casual. Here you go…there’s literally an option to fill in the blank after I’m looking for…” She glanced expectantly at Allie, fingers poised.
“A good time, not a long time,” she said, feeling the phantom flickers of a firepit crackling over her. “With a little rollercoaster emoji.” God, even her Hinge profile was being taken over by her feelings for Dean.
Hannah grinned. “I like it. Now, there's a two truths and one lie section. That could be cool.”
“Yeah, doesn’t give too much away.”
“Leaves them wanting more…”
“Which they ain’t gonna get.” Allie typed in her responses, and Hannah nudged their shoulders together.
“Hey, even if this doesn’t solve everything, you have to admit it’s fun. You’re smiling for the first time in a while.”
“I’ve smiled—”
“Yeah but, like, properly. This is going to be good for you, Allie. I can sense it.”
“Mhm.” Allie typed out The best way to win me over is a glass of wine, not really paying attention because, though she somewhat agreed, she didn’t think that seeking out other hookups because she desperately wanted to stop pining over Dean Heyward-Di Laurentis was what Hannah meant.
But, maybe, Hannah was still right. Getting over Dean would be good for her.
🔎
Dean stared at the ants crawling up the side of the brick wall in the smoking area, barely listening to what Beau and Fitz were talking about. His cigarette hung loosely in his limp hand as he fought the urge to text Allie, which was a feeling he’d frequented since December, when everything good between them had imploded. It wasn’t that he wasn’t purposefully texting her. At first, he’d just been so hurt and wound-up over her sleeping with Hunter Davenport of all people that he hadn’t been able to stomach it. Then, as her messages had rolled in over Christmas break, he’d felt sick with the longing to text Come over to her. Beau had told him it was a bad idea, though, and he always listened to Beau.
By the New Year, it felt too little too late. Allie had stopped reaching out. She was probably over the guilt of hurting his feelings. He told himself that, if he saw her around campus in January, then he’d make the effort to have a chat with her; explain why he flew into such a rage. That, yes, her revelation had been the catalyst, but that he and Hunter had a shit-ton of history. That it hadn’t all been because she’d slept with him but that it had been, really.
Dean barely saw her, though. She didn’t come over to the hockey house with Hannah at all. She was never working at Malone’s whenever he was there. He caught her leaving the Drama building once, but she was laughing at something her friend, Dexter, was saying. She didn’t seem too heartbroken. She was perfectly fine, whereas Dean tossed and turned at night, wishing he hadn’t fucked everything up by being honest; wishing that he’d just swallowed the truth and said I completed the assignment because, that way, he’d still get to have her. Not in the way he wanted. But, he’d still get to see her. It was the distance that was killing him. The silence. The absence of her laugh, her smile, her kisses, her everything.
So, now, he was here. In the smoking area of O’Flanagan’s, an Irish bar that they were all at for Birdie’s birthday. Hannah had shown up without Allie, which was common nowadays but didn’t stop the disappointment from churning through Dean’s body. He’d joked around with the guys, ribbing Tucker for his trash pass in practice that day and grudgingly accepting the drink that Logan bought him (the tension between them was slowly thawing). But, he couldn’t help his eyes from drifting towards the door as if he thought that, maybe, Allie would come.
“You alright, D?” Beau knocked their shoulders together, as Fitz went inside, claiming that he was too cold.
“Yeah, fine.” Dean stared at his shoes.
“You’ve lost your light,” Beau said, snatching his cigarette from and lighting it again before passing it back to him. Dean took it silently, inhaling automatically. “Is this about Allie?”
Dean choked because Beau had asked that question just as he was exhaling. “Is what about…” Christ, he couldn’t even think about saying her name without his heart fielding splinters.
“Don’t bullshit me,” his best friend replied. “You’ve been in a foul mood all semester. You’re still pining over her, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered.
“Deanie.” Beau’s tone was firm. “I said don’t bullshit me.”
“Right.” Dean ran a hand over his face. “I just…I can’t stop thinking about it. Regretting it.”
“Regretting what?”
“Telling her how I feel.” He met Beau’s eyes, not accusatorily but in a way that insinuated y’know, like you told me to.
Beau cocked his head to one side. “Why do you regret it? Because you weren’t quick enough? I told you, man—”
“It’s not that I wasn’t quick enough,” Dean protested. “I tried, okay? Right after our chat. She sent me to voicemail and then she didn’t come to the Eastwood game, but I thought it didn’t matter because she phoned me to get Garrett’s ass to the showcase. It was the perfect timing because I—”
“Because you didn’t think she’d actually do it?” Beau prompted, reading his mind as usual.
“Yeah…I guess,” Dean muttered. He really hadn’t thought that Allie I-won’t-give-up-on-love Hayes would actually complete the sexy homework assignment before him, let alone with his mortal enemy of all people. Less than forty-eight hours after she’d told him about it, mind. Then again, she’d slept with him very swiftly after Sean, so maybe this wasn’t any different. Dean felt pathetic for letting that thought give him the tiniest bit of hope.
“Do you regret it because she rejected you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, that’s not the right reason to regret it, D. You put yourself out there. You were honest about how you feel. Yes, you then beat up her one-night-stand—not your best move, dude—but she was texting you over Christmas, right? She clearly likes you, too.”
“You told me not to text her over break,” Dean reminded him.
“Yes, because you were minutes away from booty-calling her.” Beau rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t talk to her at all. You guys need to have a proper conversation that doesn’t end in sex. After that, if you establish that you’re on the same page, then cool. Fuck like rabbits.”
“Aye aye,” he said, saluting weakly. “I just haven’t…been able to sum up the courage to text her.”
Beau clapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s a conversation that needs to happen in person.”
“I never see her anymore. It’s like she’s avoiding me. Fuck, she probably is. She definitely doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“How do you know that, if you don’t try?” Beau questioned.
“Trying in the first place was what got me here.”
“Good point. Okay, let me cook. Valentine’s is soon. I’ll play Cupid.”
Dean snorted. “You’d make a terrible Cupid.”
Beau made an insulted noise, smacking him. “I disagree. I’d Katniss-Everdeen my way around that bow and I am very cherub-like, thank you very much.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Maxwell.”
🔎
Allie was reminded, very quickly, why she didn’t like dating apps.
As a relationship girlie, the tacky and emotionless responses—fuelled only by pure testosterone and lust—were, although alluring, a little disheartening. But, she had to keep telling herself that she wasn’t in it for their personalities; she just wanted their bodies. She needed casual, meaningless hookups who didn’t sport dimples when they smiled or conduct heartfelt conversations over games of chess. She couldn’t let feelings get entangled in photo booths and bathtubs because then she would just be stuck in the same spiral, scratching out the record. So, when Jake commented smash or smash? on her bikini picture, and Lewis said I’d give you more than a bottle of wine ;) she had to remember that this was what she wanted; this was what would get her over Dean.
She saw him again, eventually. She guessed she couldn’t avoid him forever and, as the hockey team walked in the door at Malone’s, she felt the dread build up inside of her. Allie didn’t even allow herself time to catch Dean’s expression when he saw her because she was suddenly so busy with everything that Della wanted her to do. She polished cutlery for an age, just so that Freya would have to serve the tables in the Hawks’ section. She collected glasses, sweeping in through the crowd and practically snatching them off tables so that she didn’t have to engage in any unwanted conversations, and desperately tried to stay on the bar once she realised that Dean’s eyes were definitely following her. When he came up to the bar, she suddenly discovered that there was a tray of drinks that needed taking out (“I’ve got it,” Freya told her, but Allie bustled away regardless).
“Table Eight is asking for you,” Della said, as Allie was refilling the ice well.
“Boston Lager is out,” she replied, even though she was sure the keg still had a few more pints in it.
“No worries, I’ll change it. Go see what Eight wants,” Della answered. Fuck. Maybe Dean was causing trouble just so that he could talk to her.
Allie wasn’t blind. The whole Hawks team was there—she loved Garrett, and Logan and Tucker were sound guys, too. But, that also meant the underclassmen were lounging across another booth, including the infamous Hunter Davenport on the opposite side of the table to Dean, who was currently laughing at something that Tucker was saying. Her chest panged. She couldn’t go over there. It hurt too much to see him so happy and unaffected when she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Which was horrible of her, right? She hadn’t wanted to have broken his heart; had hated herself for killing the hope in his eyes that night. But, now that he was smiling, she suddenly wished that he was begging for her, at her feet. She was pathetic.
“Is everything okay over here?” she asked, with a customer-service smile.
“Allie!” Garrett grinned, dapping her up as Logan and Tucker raised their drinks in equally enthusiastic greetings. Dean just observed her, suddenly somber, over the rim of his glass. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Allie ruffled his hair affectionately. “I’ve been very busy.”
Garrett smirked at her. “So I’ve heard. How’s the da—”
“Look, if you don’t need anything, I’ve gotta get back to the bar. We’re—” She glanced back at the bar, which was currently clear except for one customer whom Freya was serving. “—slammed,” she added lamely.
“You look it,” Logan drawled. “Join us for a drink.”
“I’m on the clock.”
“But we’re your friends.” Logan pouted.
“Logan, if she doesn’t want to join, she doesn’t have to,” Dean said, not making eye contact with her. God, he probably hated her. Either that, or he was really so unbothered by the situation that he didn’t even spare her a second thought anymore. Allie loathed the fact that she longed for him to lock gazes with her, eyes sparkling and lips quirking into a smirk. What happened to I like you, I like us? she wanted to ask, What happened to I get to be here with you?
With that, Allie held her hands up and headed back to the bar, where she instantly decided that the entire top needed wiping down. As she was scrubbing the end, someone approached her, and hope ballooned in her chest, only to instantly deflate when she realised that it was Hunter standing there, not Dean.
“Allie, huh?” he asked, a charming smile on his face that had once worked for her, but now did nothing because all she could think about was whether Dean was watching; if he cared.
“Congrats, you now know my name,” she responded dryly.
“Well, seems only fair.” Hunter cocked his head to one side, clearly checking her out. “I’m—”
“Hunter Davenport,” she filled in the blanks for him. “I know.”
“You know who I am?” He smirked.
“People talk.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“You wish.”
“Oh, but you had so many good things to say about me.” Hunter leant on her freshly cleaned bar, every inch of him the confident man she’d met in the bar with Joanna. Somehow, it only read as cockiness now, and she was half-surprised that Dean hadn’t come over yet, whilst simultaneously being annoyed at herself for wanting him to see; wanting him to care.
“I’m not looking for anything right now,” Allie told him. “It was a one-time thing.” The deja-vu cut into her, slicing her resolve into ribbons. Shit, she missed Dean. She hadn’t even responded to half of her messages on Hinge because she was still wondering whether it was a good idea, but this desperation for his attention made her realise that she really needed to start erasing him from her mind, especially because he clearly didn’t give a fuck about her anymore.
“Oh, but I saw you on Hinge,” Hunter said, and she stilled.
“So, you already knew my name?”
“Yeah, but it’s different to see you in person now I know your actual name instead of the fake one you evidently gave me.”
“Rich coming from you, Carter St. James.”
Hunter grinned. “Maybe I should make my move on Hinge, if that’s how I’ll get you in my bed again.”
“One-time thing,” she reminded him. “We don’t owe each other anything.”
“That we don’t.” He tilted his head towards her. “See you around, Allie.”
Allie fidgeted with the bottle of sanitiser in her hands, tracking Hunter’s traipse back to the table. As she did so, she was knocked breathless by the sudden eye contact she made with Dean. His gaze was dark, his jaw clenched, and she genuinely felt her knees go a little weak. Maybe he did care. Or, maybe, he just genuinely hated Hunter. Either way, she had to take this Hinge profile seriously. She couldn’t be thrown on her shifts just because Dean was there. She had to get over him and, as a wise woman once said, the best way to get over someone was to get under somebody new.
That night, she poured herself a large glass of Albariño white and messaged Jake and Lewis back with half-hearted flirty responses. She scrolled through the profiles of men within her five mile radius, and sent off some pickup lines that she didn’t really care about, but knew would work. By the time that Hannah was home, she’d sorted herself a hookup for tomorrow night, just across campus, with Jake whose page stated that he liked skiing and late-night ramen. Hannah high-fived her, and Allie tried not to cry herself to sleep.
When she closed her eyes and fell into a restless dream, Dean appeared.
🔎
Dean was honestly proud of himself for not punching that smug smile off Hunter’s face when he’d sauntered over to chat to Allie.
The only reason he’d hadn’t knocked that motherfucker out was because he couldn’t quite shake the look of horror on Allie’s face when he’d smacked Hunter into the counter, nor could he stop fixating on her slight smile as she talked to him. She was speaking to him, in public, without her eyes darting around to catch who was watching them and, for that, Dean stayed seated. Because, clearly, she wasn’t ashamed of Hunter in the same way that she’d worried about being seen with him. He watched her lips mouth the words, “One-time thing,” and he felt physically sick.
“You okay, bro?” Tucker murmured to him, as he’d gone pretty quiet.
Dean cleared his throat, ripping his eyes away from Allie and Hunter. “Yeah.” His gaze found them again, automatically at this point, and he drank in the sight of Allie finally meeting his eyes. She’d been avoiding them all night, which was why he’d flagged down Della to ask for a word with Allie but, by the time she’d trudged over to them reluctantly, Dean had lost his nerve. She evidently didn’t give a shit about him, or didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He should respect that. Fuck what Beau said…she clearly didn’t care, so he needed to stop craving her.
He downed his pint, then sunk another, and another. He took a shot with Logan, and he threw up in the bathroom, but not necessarily from the alcohol. He couldn’t stop replaying Allie’s smile towards Hunter, or the way he’d leant in and cocked his head as if he had the upper hand. Garrett folded him into the back of his car after he’d found him slumped over the toilet and, thankfully, he didn’t press the issue. Just handed him a glass of water when they got back to the house, and gave him a firm pat on the back with a muttered, “Here if you need anything.”
In his room, Dean longed to text Allie. He typed out a few messages—verging from Why were u talking to him ? to I miss u—but eventually told himself that she didn’t want that; she didn’t want him. If she did, she would’ve kept texting him after Christmas. If she wanted him, she wouldn’t have scampered around Malone’s all night like a spooked mouse avoiding a trap. He slumped face-forward, still a little drunk, on his bed and ended up scrolling aimlessly through Hinge. Perhaps he’d find a faceless blonde he could fuck to just try and get Allie Hayes out of his system. He hadn’t slept with anyone since he’d spewed I like us at Allie’s feet, and she’d kicked his puddle of emotions aside. And the thing that was really fucking with Dean’s head was that he didn’t care. He didn’t miss sex, because sex had been redefined by Allie. So, if he couldn’t hook up with Allie, then he didn’t want anyone.
Maybe he needed to, though. Maybe sliding into a random woman’s profile and bed would help him get over—
Allie. 21. 5’4”. Brooklyn / Boston. Actress. Briar U. Short-term.
What? Dean rubbed at his eyes, convinced that he was just hallucinating Allie whilst staring at some brunette chick’s profile. But, no. That was blatantly Allie Hayes’ Hinge profile blinking from his screen in the dark of his bedroom. That was the dip of the J.Lo dress, the silky one he’d felt underneath his palms the first night he’d learnt what it was to be obsessed with the shape of her, teasing a glance at her perfect breasts. That was her birthmark on her left thigh, the one he’d kissed when going down on her, in a seductive bikini pic. That was Hannah and Dexter grinning on either side of her, as she smiled that megawatt grin that he wished he could frame.
Allie was on Hinge. Since when? Dean’s mind was reeling—hook, line and sinker unspooled into chaos. In a blur, he scanned the rest of her profile:
I’m looking for…a good time, not a long time 🎢
The best way to win me over is…a glass of wine xo
Two truths and a lie: my favourite musical is In The Heights; I can’t ice-skate; I’m a hopeless romantic.
She was…was she quoting him, or was he going crazy? Either he was unhealthily obsessed with her, or everything that she’d put on her profile reminded him of them; of their late-night phone calls and whispered conversations between hookups, the secrets shared somewhat more illicit than the sex. Whether it was or not, though, the truth still remained that Allie was trying to sleep with more people; people that weren’t him. Maybe she’d been doing this all month, whilst he’d been trying to work up the nerve to talk to her. Maybe this was all she wanted. Maybe, if he tried to revert back to the Six Flags persona that had captured her the first time, she’d want him this time. Maybe—
His door flung open, after a half-hearted knock. “Dude, are you going to—”
“Jesus Christ, Logan,” Dean snapped, shoving his phone underneath his pillow as if he was a teenager caught watching porn. “You could’ve knocked.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “I did.”
“I could’ve been naked.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“What do you want, man?” Dean asked, a little exasperatedly. He wanted to continue stalking Allie on Hinge like a normal person.
“Just wondering if you were planning on going in the shower,” Logan said.
“Um, no. I’ll shower in the morning.”
“Cool, because you take an age, and I want to go to bed.” Logan stepped back out into the hallway, before popping his head back in. “You okay, D?”
“Fine,” Dean said, somewhat irritably. “Just tired.”
“If you say so.” Logan whistled as he walked away and, as his bedroom door swung shut, Dean whipped his phone back out, scrolling onto Hinge. Which was…blank. Of Allie, that was. He was now staring at some blonde girl called Em, instead of the Allie Hayes profile that he’d been planning to orchestrate a move on. He cursed underneath his breath, scrolling and scrolling in the hopes that the screen hadn’t completely refreshed, and had simply just gone back up to the top. Nope. After ten minutes of scrolling, he had to accept that he’d lost Allie’s profile.
And, now, she was well on her way to distancing herself from him. Whilst he was stuck here, scrolling pathetically in the desperate hope that she’d materialise again. Maybe she’d already moved on. Maybe he needed to get a grip.
He typed out a response to a girl’s prompt, who couldn’t have looked less like Allie if she tried.
Dean had had enough of wallowing. It was time to move on.