Cheating on Myself by Erin Downing Page B

until I picked them up and put them in the dishwasher for him), laid his socks next to the couch while he was watching TV at night, and squeezed the toothpaste from the top. Living with Anders was kind of like living with Erik.
    “Just catching up on some work,” I said, smiling. “A powerpoint thing.”
    He narrowed his eyes at me. “Really?”
    “Yes, really,” I said, patting my computer nervously. “That’s all.”
    “You look guilty.”
    I sighed, defeated. “Fine. I’m filling out an online dating portfolio.”
    Anders started clapping. “Excellent! We should open a bottle of wine for this. Can I help?”
    “No.”
    “You’re going to sit there, alone, and answer those questions for yourself? Trust me, you need the help of an expert. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
    “You’re an expert at online dating service forms? Is there such a thing?”
    “Just go get the wine and I’ll get started.” I reluctantly went into the kitchen to pour us both a glass of wine. When I came back out to the dining room, Anders had my computer open and was answering questions about me.
    “Curvy?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. “Don’t you think ‘a few extra pounds’ is more appropriate?” I squeezed my belly fat and gazed down at my boobs.
    “Curvy sounds a lot better. That’s why it’s an option.”
    “But curvy suggests naturally large tits and sexy hips,” I looked down at my breasts, which were larger than usual, thanks to the extra pounds, but still not exactly boob-tastic. And my butt was kind of flat. Though I did have nice calves. My calves were curvy and perfect.
    Anders looked me over carefully. “Curves can be anywhere. ‘Curvy’ does not necessarily mean big tits. Trust me, I’ve gone out with a lot of girls who answer curvy… you fit the bill. You’re hot, Stella. Okay, what do you like to do?” He didn’t wait for a response from me. Instead, he started checking all kinds of boxes and began to type. “You like sports, right? We’ll say running—wait, but then you’re going to get one of those self-obsessed running types who spend their weekend training for marathons. How about a more social sport? Are you into biking?”
    “Sure,” I said, and took a sip of my wine. I’d lost control of the process. “How about hiking?”
    “Yes! That’s great. Hiking is social, but not too extreme. Yoga?”
    I lifted my eyebrows at him.
    “Right. Not yoga. Those yoga guys are weird anyway. Remember when I went out with Kelly from my yoga class and she started doing breathing exercises while we were making out?” He shuddered. “So weird. Okay, how about other activities?”
    “Eating out?”
    “Fine. Ooh, wine tasting? That would be fun.”
    “Who’s going on this date? You, or me?” I grinned at him.
    “You’d love wine tasting. Maybe it will get you out of your Malbec slump.”
    “It’s not a slump. I like Malbec. I’m just a creature of habit.”
    “Exactly, and we’re trying to break you out of it. We’re trying to break all of your bland habits.” He checked the box next to ‘wine tasting’ and also checked the boxes next to ‘coffee and conversation,’ ‘cooking,’ ‘movies,’ ‘camping,’ and ‘exploring new places.’
    “I’ve been camping three times,” I said, dubious.
    “Did you enjoy it?” Anders looked up only briefly, still clicking through pages on my profile.
    “I guess. I was in Girl Scouts at the time.”
    “It’s not like you’re going to go camping on your first date. By the time it comes up, this guy is going to be so into you he’ll be thrilled to teach you all about camping. He can teach you how to do it and will feel like a hero.” He smiled. “Trust me.”
    I groaned and drank more wine. “Did you just write that I’m ‘active, ready to explore new things, and always eager for a laugh?’” I cringed. “That’s so cheesy.”
    “It’ll work. You’ll see.”
    “The last book I read was some sort of chick