Meet You in the Middle

by Devon Daniels

There’s a special place in hell for people who waste my time. Wasting time is at the top of my list of pet peeves, right around being charged for hotel Wi-Fi, people who are rude to servers, and incorrect hashtag use (hint: #ifitlookslikethisyouredoingitwrong).

He was even arrogant about Ohio, for crying out loud. Maybe I’d be more inclined to listen to someone who wasn’t from a flippin’ flyover state.” “Actually, I’m from Texas,” a deep voice rumbles from over my shoulder. I swivel my head around just as a massive figure steps through the doorway.

I LOVE YOU BACKWOODS BEN

Where would I even meet someone? I should probably be Tinder-ing, Match-ing, Hinge-ing, and Bumble-ing like everyone else I know, but going on semiblind computer dates after a long day at work seems like an almost comical form of torture. And frankly? I just don’t care enough. I’m a happily independent woman, and the only times I wish things were different, it goes away in five to seven days.

His eyes catch and hold mine. “I’d rather argue with you than get along with anyone else.”

Moms. I guess once you’re single past a certain age, they’re all the same.

We’re oil and water. Hamilton and Burr. Kanye and Taylor Swift. We don’t mix.

Corny but my kind of corny

“You can still be a feminist and believe in the traditional rules of courtship, okay? I don’t need to lead in every aspect of my life. That’s the entire point of feminism, anyway, that I can do or be anything I want. And I want to be pursued.”