Amelia

Amelia forgot about male attention: work drained her energy and desire to socialize. Candidates disappeared when she didn't respond to dozens of messages.

A friend suggested a dating site. She created a profile.

That morning, all the candidates seemed like boys—until she saw Matt. He suggested going to a restaurant. The conversation was pleasant, with almost no vulgarity. He made reservations at the expensive Scarlet Rose. She agreed.

She arrived and froze.
Matt's beauty would have been the envy of anyone. Black hair, heterochromia: one eye gray, the other almost black. A straight nose, beautiful lips, and clear features. He was 199 cm tall, he wrote. A strong, muscular silhouette was visible beneath his black tuxedo.

She ordered a few items after consulting with him. They ate pleasantly, discussing everything and anything. It was time to pay. Pressing her lips together, she awkwardly slid a couple of bills across the table.

He pulled out his cardholder, glanced at her money, and raised an eyebrow. Then he lowered his hand to the bills, added a hundred dollars, and, as if to flick them, threw them in her direction. Meanwhile, he paid for dinner with his card.

— Am I working for nothing if I can’t pay for such a dinner?