It was a warm July night after a long day of drinking when Lauren stumbled into a house party on the streets of West Hollywood. Within moments of arriving her eyes locked with a boy across the room - he was shirtless for some inexplicable reason - with beautiful curls sticking out of what seemed to be a woman’s headband. They moved towards each other like magnets, meeting in the middle of a crowded room. “Hey” he smiled, “want a tour of the house?” They floated in and out of rooms, him introducing her to friends, showing her his punching bag he seemed oddly proud of, and explaining the extensive numbers of black and white headshots covering the walls, all framed and signed, not one of them featuring a famous person. They made their way outside and stood in the back yard under the stars. Had they known each other for minutes or forever? They kissed in the moonlight. Then, shouting. “LAUREN!” They heard girls squealing from inside. “We’re going to Sassafras! The Uber is here!” As the drunken gaggle of girls swept her away she called to him, “Meet me at the bar!” But it was too late, he too had been pulled away into a game of darts with the boys, and couldn’t hear her call. Months passed. Time moved both quickly and slowly as Lauren thought about the sweet shirtless boy with nice hair, wondering if she’d ever see him again, until that fateful day on Bumble. The black and white headshot, the unlit cigarette dangling out one side of his mouth, the cowboy hat and, of course, a bare chest. It was him! And it was a match. “Hi,” she typed, “I’m pretty sure we made out in your back yard, can you please confirm?” “Hi,” he answered quickly, “yes, and I’d love to make out with you again.” Fin