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“Except the app wasn’t created for that reason,” Grayson said. “Why don’t you save the money you don’t have and just focus on pus—”

“I’m going to let you two hash out whatever this is,” I chimed in, interrupting Grayson. “I have to go message Love.”

“Love,” Grayson roared as I got up from the chair. “Good luck with that.”

I flipped him off and returned to my bedroom, adjusting the pillows behind my back as I loaded the app, pulling up SaarasLove’s profile. What set our app apart from our competitors’ was that instead of using first or last names along with photos of the user’s face, we allowed only usernames and body shots or icons to protect everyone’s identities. Within the private chat feature, users could exchange whatever information they wanted—pictures, names, phone numbers—but that was at their discretion.

What I could gather from SaarasLove’s profile was that she lived within a sixty-mile radius of the zip code I’d provided—a distance she couldn’t exceed, or we wouldn’t have matched—and her picture was a long-range, out-of-focus shot of her sitting on a rocky beach, fully clothed.

I needed to know more about her.

I opened the chat feature under my BostonLifer account, a name that had come to me when we’d gotten closer to launch, and typed out a message.

Me: Hey you, my 100% match. I’ve got to say, that’s an impressive number. I’m pretty sure it means we’re supposed to meet up.

SaarasLove: Hiii! Honestly, that number kinda shocked me too. So, who are you, Mr. Boston? Tell me everything, don’t leave out a single detail.

Me: Getting right to the point, I like it. I’m in my last year of grad school, I just started a business with my best friends, I’m an avid Pats and Red Sox fan, I’m pretty athletic myself, and I’m into all things outdoors. Your turn.

SaarasLove: Just finishing up my undergrad and working, like you, but for someone else, not myself. I wouldn’t call myself athletic, but I love to walk. If I could turn traveling into a career, that would be my ultimate dream job—which I do a lot anyway for my employer. I love bad reality TV and ice cream, the chocolate-ier, the better. In fact, if frozen Hershey syrup becomes a thing, I’ll be their top customer.

Me: And it looks like you enjoy the beach, according to your pic.

SaarasLove: I do. I love it.

SaarasLove: Is that scotch in your pic? Whiskey? Are those the same—forgive me, I’m a simple drinker and just stick with wine.

Me: Scotch, yes. When I feel like indulging, that’s my drink of choice.

SaarasLove: Except you’re on a college budget, like me, and drowning in student loans, so you wait until the pub has $2 drafts, amiright?

Me: Lol. You’re definitely not wrong about that.

Me: What are your plans for this weekend?

SaarasLove: I’m actually headed home. I’ve got some things to tie up there.

Me: Is home far?

SaarasLove: It’ll feel like a totally different world from here.

Me: I was going to ask you if you wanted to meet up.

SaarasLove: Mr. Boston, what I love about this new app is that not every student I go to school with knows I’m on it since they can’t see my name or my pic. What I hate about this app is that I have no idea what you look like. Show me something, anything, just so I can have a feel of you to know if there’s any chemistry.

I laughed as I read her message.

If she only knew she was speaking to a co-owner, something I wouldn’t tell her.

The guys and I had decided not to tell anyone until we absolutely had to. We just didn’t know how that would go over when we were meeting up with women we’d matched with.

I certainly wasn’t going to ask one of my roommates to come in and snap a picture of me. The amount of shit I’d get for it, especially from Grayson, would be endless. So I slipped off my T-shirt and moved in front of my full-length mirror, aiming the camera at my chest and abs, areas I worked hard at when I was at the gym, and I turned my face to make sure it wasn’t included when I took the shot.

Pleased with the result, I attached the photo to the message and sent it.

Me: Love, your wish is my command.

SaarasLove: Hold a sec. I need to process THAT. And maybe wipe the drool from my lip.

Me: Lol.

SaarasLove: Mr. Boston, wow. WOW. Wow.

Me: I’m glad you like what you see.

SaarasLove: You’re freaking chiseled. Like, no. Love, yes.

Several seconds later, a picture of her came through. It looked like she was at the same beach as in her profile shot, but in this one, she was in a bikini. Her knees were bent, and she was holding them against her chest with her arms wrapped around them. She was looking away from the camera, the angle showing her long dark hair and toned arms, her thin frame, the tiny ball her body was tucked into.

Me: Love, you’re gorgeous . . . and that body, damn.

SaarasLove: Thank you.  But it’s not exactly a close-up shot like yours, so you’re not seeing everything, ya know?

Me: I’ve seen enough to know you’re beautiful.

Me: How about that date when you get back from home?

SaarasLove: I’d really love that.