The Blind Date

Arielle’s feet. “Tell your momma it’s fine. Everyone does it . . . online dating, I mean. Tell her. Speak!”
Raffy barks for Arielle and she feeds him the yummy treat.
“See, even Raffy agrees.”
I know when I’ve been beaten. And truth be told, I’m intrigued. I get asked out, but I never know if it’s because I’m me or because I’m Riley Sunshine. And I quit counting the number of weird private messages I got ages ago. Maybe this is a way to date?
“There’s still the whole ‘Riley Sunshine’ problem,” I tell them, wiggling my fingers under my chin in my salute. I swear I don’t usually talk about myself in the third-person, and my online persona is truly me, but it’s me amped up a bit. I mean, nobody wants to see me with a crazy bedhead, stained T-shirts from my college days, and crying over Buffy’s having to decide between Angel or Spike as if I don’t know what happens from watching the reruns multiple times from beginning to series’ end.
“You think I didn’t think of that?” Arielle challenges. Eli smirks, and I wonder what she’s got up her sleeve. “Do you even talk to River?”
“Huh?” I say dumbly. I mean, Arielle obviously knows who my brother is, and I talk about him whenever a story comes up that needs to be shared, but what is she talking about?
“BlindDate,” she informs me. “Our brothers’ dating app?”
Oh, that.
Briar Rose is one of those small, big towns. Everyone doesn’t know everyone, and there are no lemonade stands on the sidewalks or anything like that. But it also doesn’t take Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon to connect someone to someone else. At most, it’d take two or three. For example, Arielle and me, and our brothers.
Arielle and I met at the mall with The Crew. Our brothers met in school. Neither particularly remarkable in and of itself, but a bit of a ‘small world’ coincidence. Still, we don’t hang out or anything. River’s great and all, but he’s a bit protective of me, even though I don’t need it, especially with Arielle at my side. And Arielle and her brother, Noah, are too alike to get along for more than a few minutes, though they love each other fiercely. That’s how they do everything—bold, brash, and bossy.
“BlindDate,” I repeat, connecting the dots in Arielle’s plan. “The dating app with no photos? That works for me to stay anonymous, but what if Freddy Krueger shows up?”
Arielle giggles. “Can’t say that isn’t a possibility, but would you really walk away if he was ugly but at the same time was extra-sweet? You know what they say, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
“Now you’re making me sound like an asshole,” I joke. “Fine, walk me through it,” I tell her, admitting defeat because I know when I’ve lost.
Raffy hears one of the few words he knows—walk—and goes crazy, jumping around and howling. He runs toward the door, looking at his leash hanging from a hook on the wall as if he needs to show me where it is. Then he runs back to me, nudging at my knee and barking directly at me. You said it, now get up and let’s goooo! Walk, walk, walk, we’re going on a walk.
“Raffy, I didn’t mean us, you silly dog. I was talking to Auntie Arielle.” I grab ahold of him, pulling him into my lap and rubbing his belly in apology. Within a few seconds, his mind has gone blank, his tongue lolling out in belly rub bliss. If only humans were that easy, the world would be a better place. “Crisis averted, but let’s get this over with.”
“There’s the spirit,” Eli says dryly.
“Okay, let’s see here . . .” Arielle picks up my tablet from the table beside her. “First you. We’ll make a trash email account and give you an anonymous name. Preferences on that? You’re going to have explain it if you actually meet someone.”
I think for a moment. “Rachel.” It’s my mother’s name and popped into my head as similar enough to Riley that I can explain it away. Arielle clicks around a bit on the tablet.
“We’ll input all the information you want the robot matchmaker to know, physical attributes, your likes, hobbies and dislikes, and then what you want in your ideal man.”
"Robot matchmaker?” I say beneath furrowed brows.
“Artificial intelligence, algorithm, robot matchmaker . . . same things.” Arielle waves a hand dismissively.
“And this robot does what with all this information?” I really need to ask River about his work more often.
“Matches you up with possible contenders. Just make sure to bring your I.D. to meet your guy so authorities can identify your body when your date ends up going south,” Arielle jokes.
“Arielle!” I protest, waving my glass at her and dangerously coming close to sloshing wine out on the tablet. “We’re not even two minutes in and you’re already giving me cold feet!”
“She’s kidding. Relax!” Eli tells me. “Besides, if you do connect with someone and want to meet them, make the first meeting at a public place like a bookstore or coffee shop before going on an official date for obvious safety reasons. And no dicking on the first date. Not because it’s slutty but because you don’t want some dude knowing where you live, and you definitely don’t want to go to his place and end up in his dungeon of pain and pleasure. I should know. There was this one time—”
“Not helping,” Arielle says out of the side of her mouth, and Eli shrugs, going back in for another sausage and following it up with a slice of cheese.
I sit back, processing everything. As skeptical as I am, I can’t really find any downsides to at least trying this thing out. I mean, sure, it might match me up with Freddy Krueger and ruin my dreams for the foreseeable future or a cult leader who wants me to join him in some Stepford Wives situation. But on the other hand, I could meet Mr. Right. Or