Work Text:
Angela’s swiping criteria is fairly simple. To summarize, it’s P.I.S.S: Pretty, Interesting, Smart, and Similar.
That last one is the most flexible out of the four. Really, Angela thinks she can handle a girl that wasn’t like her at all. Similarities on Bumble profiles functioned like most of what was on the profile - red-flag signals, conversation starters, maybe even Never-Swiping-Again indicators.
Angela also thinks she does this purely out of boredom, so she’s not completely worried about anything not working out.
There have been a few significant-other hopefuls. Women which Angela thought would keep her off of the app permanently. These were the women who got a third date with Angela, and all of them were the ones who asked. For some reason or another, there was never a fourth with any of them.
Angela was bummed out for two, three days max. After that, she was back to her usual, jolly self. And then she was back on the app after a few days more. Not really looking for love, or for sex, or for whatever else dating app people looked for.
She was just bored.
“You’re a player, did you know that?”
Her roommate, Chanse, is the only one she allows to judge her dating app antics. Mostly because he’s the main witness to it all - he’s the one she calls whenever ‘there’s an emergency’, he’s the one who judges her outfits, he’s the one who leaves the apartment whenever a woman comes home with her.
Angela doesn’t really mind. Because she would do the same for Chanse if he asked.
“Not a player,” Angela replies, scrolling down Dana, 29’s profile. Dogs, beer, agnostic. Likes the Strokes. Right. “Just bored.”
“You can be both, sweetie.” Chanse ruffles Angela’s hair as he passes by their couch. He walks to their Nespresso machine and reaches for a pod. “Coffee?”
“Already had one.”
Veronica, 28. Is looking for ‘a third’. Left. Katie, 33. Wanted to be an astronaut, became an investment banker. Left. Mika, 31. Likes walks on the beach and has ‘movie date’ as her ideal first date. Left.
Jesus. Angela can’t even begin to imagine how many movie dates this woman has been on.
“Rare for you to be up before 9am,” Chanse comments, opening the fridge. He wrinkles his nose a bit. “Girl, we need groceries.”
Looking over her shoulder, Angela asks, “We aren’t good until Saturday?”
Chanse makes a face. “Maybe if we had takeout every night until then, sure.”
Angela sighs, sinks further down into the couch. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
“My 2025 resolutions mind. I do not.”
Laughing, Angela closes the app and checks her email. She knows she has to be in the office in half an hour, but she also knows that her current assignment - a profile on some of the up-and-coming tech developers in the city - wasn’t really urgent.
In any case, she’ll come in anyway, because if there was one thing Angela wasn’t, it was incompetent.
“Alright, I’m off to work.” Angela gets up, finishes the rest of her water, and puts the glass in the sink. Her stomach rumbles. Maybe she can just pick up a sandwich on the way to work. “Let me know what you want me to bring home for dinner.”
“I’ll text you.”
Before Angela could make her way back to her room, Chanse says, “Any matches?”
“No.” Angela tilts her head to the side. “Well, none that are worth mentioning to you right now.”
“You haven’t mentioned anyone to me since Katherine.”
Angela shrugs. “She was pretty and interesting. You know two of the four criteria means a mention to the roommate.”
As for the other two… well. It was a blessing they both got to the end of their burgers and shakes that day. If Angela was to be honest, she cannot tell anybody what they even talked about during the date. Angela is just thankful that Katherine was super nice about her saying no to a second date.
“Fair.”
“Yeah. Katherine was fairly recent, I think. A month and a half ago?”
“Um… isn’t that seven months in queer women time?”
Scoffing, Angela walks away. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
-*-
Angela doesn’t just sit around at work. She considers herself very hard-working and diligent, pursuing her writing assignments as best as she can. She wasn’t the kind of journalist that needed to be at crime scenes or on TV, but she still made sure to be well-sourced and always tried to have a co-worker peer-review her drafts.
Right now though? There was absolutely nothing to be done for her tech developer piece, and Angela is currently wondering why she even bothered coming to the office at all.
“Okay. I’ve done the interviews for everyone but this one guy who’s out of town, and he’ll be out of town until next week,” Angela says, practically shoving her phone screen into her editor’s face. “He’s literally the face of the piece.”
Tyler, her editor, leans back into his chair. “Okay. So we wait. What do you want?”
“Ty, let me do something else. I want to write something real. I feel like my work is just… bleh nowadays.”
“Not true. Your piece on the tariffs affecting the vendors in the city was impression-heavy.”
Angela rolls her eyes. “It was boring to write, plus the impressions were all from people who Googled it because they don’t know what a tariff is.”
“It doesn’t mean it wasn’t good work.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save the compliments for someone here who needs it.”
“Full Circle Magazine doesn’t publish just anything, Angela.” Tyler grabs a pen and pretends to write something down. “Your work is exceptional.”
“Okay, so let me do more of the exceptional stuff on my own.”
Tyler shakes his head. He adjusts a picture frame on his desk, then adjusts his glasses.
“Absolutely not. I assign your stories. You do them. That’s how it works.”
“TYLER!” Angela is in disbelief. Lightly, she places her hands on Tyler’s desk, and tries not to make more of an outburst than she already has.
“I am bored out of my mind. I can’t finish my assignment due to a guy that’s out of town. HR is making me stay in the office three out of five times a week when we both know I can work from home. The least you could do is allow me to write something with teeth.”
Blinking once, twice, Tyler sighs. As he takes a sip of his coffee, contemplating the request, Angela feels the buzz of her phone in her jean pocket.
“You can spend the rest of the day and the whole of tomorrow to brainstorm. I want ideas by Friday, and you’ll write what I allow you to write from those.”
Angela is so happy that she thinks she is about to pass out.
“Yes, yes! Okay. You won’t regret this, Ty. Oh my God. Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Angela turns around, feeling triumphant and inspired. “Oh, and Ange?”
Angela turns back around. “Yes?”
“Wanna get drinks with me, Bob, and Hannah later tonight?”
Angela feels as if the vibe in the room did a complete 180. Like it was a music festival stage where everything - the lights, the music, the acoustics - just died . And Tyler really just sat there, hoping - maybe even expecting - that Angela would say yes.
But Angela, already aware of what her co-workers whisper about behind her back - Did you know? Tyler likes Angela! Oh my God, that’s awkward. But also, I don’t see it happening. Oh well. - decides to say no in a dignified, I-am-still-in-the-closet-for-work-purposes manner. As she always does.
“Oh, Ty. That sounds fun, but unfortunately, I already made plans tonight.” Angela points towards the door with her thumb. “I’ll go work on what you asked for and get back to you. Deal?”
Angela doesn’t even wait for Tyler’s half-hearted Deal before she leaves the office.
-*-
Angela gets back to her desk to begin brainstorming.
Even though her work forces her to adapt, she really is the kind of writer to write off of inspiration. Sometimes, she thinks she should’ve been a novelist instead. Or even one of those ghost writers whose works get another’s name plastered on them.
But magazine work pays well, and the work is kind of fun, so she stays.
Angela puts her phone up in front of her and catches a glimpse of the string of notifications on her home screen. A text from Chanse, suggesting Bamboo Palace for dinner. A few texts from her mom, updating her about their garden at home. And… multiple texts on Bumble.
“Huh.”
Angela opens the yellow dating app. Amanda, 37 has matched with her. Amanda, 37 has also taken the liberty of messaging her first. A bunch of times.
Huh. Amanda is pretty, yes. But Angela does not remember swiping right on her at all.
[Amanda]
Hi!
[Amanda]
I was going to say something about your profile but
[Amanda]
I realized I work a block away from where you are rn
[Amanda]
If you want to grab a coffee instead, I wouldn’t mind
[Amanda]
:)
For some reason, this kind of opening message really intrigues Angela. No one has been this forward since Stacey in July 2024. And for purposes of living life properly, Angela really prefers to not recall what happened with Stacey of July 2024.
Of course, Angela is not the kind of person that would just ignore this kind of message. But Angela is also – thankfully – aware of the basics of Internet safety.
[Angela]
hey :)
[Angela]
sounds good, but uh. mtv catfish and all
[Angela]
can you send a video of yourself saying hi and the time right now?
“She won’t do it,” Angela says to herself. A selfie is one thing. But a self-video?! A self-video is basically saying yes to a second date. Was this woman even her type? She needs a profile revisit before she does anything more.
Angela swipes back to Amanda’s profile, trying to see if she recalled anything from when she apparently first saw it. 37, barely on social media (talking point - why Bumble and not social media?), works at a non-profit, likes a good continental breakfast. Her ideal date is ‘anywhere, but we both contribute to the conversation’, and she is progressive in terms of political alignment.
Before Angela could get to the next part of the profile, Amanda replies, and it is more than she can handle.
[Amanda]
[video]
[Amanda]
Sorry my hair’s messy. Did a lot of paperwork and filing this morning.
The thumbnail taunts Angela, dares her to press it. Angela usually never gets nervous, but somehow, she is now.
Hi and the time right now!, Amanda says, smiling brightly and waving her hand. In the video, she has short wavy hair and short bangs, which were only halfway down her forehead. Amanda snickers, as if she knows that what she did was so corny but still so funny to me anyway, I don't give a fuck, and the video ends, and it takes all of Angela’s willpower to not loop it for the rest of the afternoon.
It was enough to make Angela’s heart skip a beat. Really, it may have been enough to kill her.
[Angela]
very funny. i’ll pretend i laughed
[Angela]
coffee at the starbucks nearby?
[Amanda]
I already know you laughed, don’t worry.
[Amanda]
See you in 10 minutes :)
-*-
The smell of Starbucks coffee envelops Angela as she walks in, and it’s not enough to quell her nerves.
“I’ll have an iced mocha,” Angela says to the barista. “Extra shot of espresso.”
The barista nods, gives her the receipt, and tells her it’ll be with her shortly.
This is the Starbucks that she went to whenever writing at the office didn’t work. Angela has a specific table by a specific window with a specific seat, and it always, always did the trick. Once she is there, in her special spot, she is inspired and capable and ready.
Today, the special spot gives her a little bit of comfort, but that’s it.
First date nerves are foreign to Angela. She’s asked other women out before, she’s been asked out by other women before, so she isn’t sure why this was making her feel any different. God.
Angela does not text Amanda that she has arrived, and chooses to internally calm herself down. The smooth jazz music playing overhead helps a little, allows Angela to situate herself. The coffee shop is moderately full, and this tells Angela that somehow, she has to act normal.
Maybe this shouldn’t even count as the first date, Angela thinks. First dates are planned, consciously fitted into a chosen day, with common interests and allergies taken into consideration. For all Angela knew, Amanda might be allergic to coffee. If that was even a thing.
The iced mocha arrives. Angela retrieves it, gets a straw (maybe the ocean will forgive her just this once), sits back down, and sips. The cold liquid rushing into her system helps calm her down some more.
“What do I even say?” Angela mumbles. She opens her phone up, thinking that maybe Amanda’s Bumble profile can give her a good opener.
It was a pretty standard profile, if Angela had to give her opinion on it. It did seem like the kind of profile that she would mindlessly swipe on. She never really had ‘intentional’ swipes, if she had to be honest. The most intentional swipes that have happened on her account were when she let Chanse swipe for her that one time.
Maybe Chanse was right. Maybe she was a player.
“Hi.”
A hand is waving behind Angela’s phone, and Angela looks up into the most beautiful face she has ever been given the honor of seeing.
“Angela, right?”
Thankfully, it only takes five seconds for Angela’s brain to formulate a coherent response.
“Oh, um, yeah.”
So much for that.
“I’m Amanda.” Amanda sits down in front of her, setting her bag down on the floor. “What did you order?”
The heat creeping into Angela’s cheeks was making her feel really uncomfortable. “Uh, an iced mocha.”
“Nice. I’ll order something too. Hold on.”
The brief respite that Angela gets from Amanda standing up to go order is spent collecting herself and willing herself to be a functioning human being. Angela is currently experiencing her first ever gay panic attack. The timing could not have been worse.
“Okay. I’m back.”
And yes, Amanda is indeed back. And then, Angela exhales, realizing that she has not said anything to this woman apart from her coffee order.
“Hi,” Angela says. Good greeting. Strong start, strong start. “You said you worked near here?”
“Heh, yeah. It’s a non-profit called Green Pulse. Environmental organization focused on, well, bettering the environment.”
“And what do you do there?”
“I'm one of its project managers. Currently, my projects are all in solar and wind energy. Basically just working with entities to generate and use more of those two. Lots of writing to companies and associations. Lots of asking for funding. Lots of events where we’re just like, please, help us do something. That kind of work.”
Fuck, she is amazing.
“Sounds cool. Also sounds like it’s a lot more interesting than what I do.”
“You’re a writer, right? Your profile said so.”
“Yeah. Not the cool, New York Times bestseller kind. Just the writing-for-a-magazine kind.”
“Oh! Which magazine?”
“Full Circle Magazine?”
“Ah…” Amanda trails off, as people usually did when they didn’t know the magazine. Angela is used to this, so it does not faze her even a little bit. “Still pretty dope.”
“Thanks. I’ve been wanting to write more interesting stuff. For the magazine and in general. So hopefully that happens soon.”
“I’d be down to read some of your stuff sometime. I love thinkpieces.” Amanda smirks. “Sometimes, certain parts of the world are just better seen through other people’s eyes.”
Amanda’s coffee order gets called, and she gestures hold that thought before getting up and getting her coffee.
All Angela thinks about right now is how gorgeous this woman is. Interesting? Well yes, she works towards bettering the environment. Smart? Oh, Angela is certain that working in a non-profit entails some level of intellect. Also, that line on seeing the world through other people’s eyes. That was something.
Similar… well. They both wrote, they both care about the environment, and – after Angela hears that Amanda’s order is a cappuccino – they both like coffee.
Angela is sold.
In an effort to chill the fuck out, Angela takes her phone and rattles off a text to Chanse in the fastest way possible.
GRRRatana
just met bumble match 4/4 criteria omgomgomg what do i do
mCRRRary
BITCH! talk to her.
mCRRRary
talk 2 me later omg.
“Ugh, I’ve been wanting coffee since this morning,” Amanda says, settling back into her seat. She adjusts the small collar of her shirt, and Angela tries to not look like she was crazy enough to notice this particular detail.
“Good thing I asked you to coffee instead of anywhere else here, then,” Angela replies.
Amanda raises an eyebrow. “And where else would you have asked me to?”
“Uh, real ones know about the fire hot dog stand that’s a half a block away from here.” Angela sips her coffee, then adds, “Oh, and there’s always the loaded bagel cart near my office. Super good.”
“Ahh, I see.”
As Amanda nods, an impressed look on her face, Angela’s brain begins to truly zone into Amanda’s face - chocolate-brown eyes, the defined dimple, the forehead framed by those adorably short bangs - and block out the rest of the world. She feels like a radio being tuned into one frequency - Amanda.
“...I see how it is.”
Angela is not aware of how Amanda sees what. “Um, sorry, what?”
“You’re saying you would’ve asked me to get street food for our first date.”
Amanda doesn’t sound condescending or mean as she says this. Really, the slight uptick of the side of her mouth as she smiles tells Angela otherwise. Tells Angela that street food would be quite enjoyable, actually. But all that registers in Angela’s brain is the word date, and so–
“Are you saying this is a date?”
Amanda blinks once, twice, as she is surprised by this response. Then, after pursing her lips, “Well, what else would it be?”
Oh, crap. Code Blue!!
“To be honest, I, uh…” Angela scratches the back of her neck, unsure of how else to phrase the uncertainty that has been buzzing in her veins.
“You thought this was a random, friendly hangout?” Amanda asks, straightening up in her seat.
Yes, but I’m not about to say that.
“Fuck, well, I…”
And then, the funniest thing happens - Amanda waits.
As Angela is flustering and staring at their Starbucks table and contemplating being buried alive and trying her goddamned hardest to explain what she means, Amanda is waiting. Patiently. And she doesn’t seem mad.
Well. Angela could tell Amanda was put off by the current conversational context, but still.
“I’m bad at, um. Determining whether a girl is queer or not,” Angela says. “And so, whenever I ask a girl out or get asked out by a girl, it’s something I usually allow to naturally come up in conversation.”
A sip of the coffee, because Angela is parched right now, then, “On text. Just so we’re like, straight to the point with each other, y’know? And so nobody is misled and everyone is happy, yada yada yada.”
“Oh.”
Amanda takes these words in, seems like she thinks they’re reasonable. Angela is a lot calmer now that she’s let it all out.
Angela asks, “So, um. Are you?”
Amanda, more relaxed now than she was a minute ago, replies, “Use your words, hon. Am I what?”
“Wouldn’t it be more awkward if I asked the question in full?”
“No. Give me your worst.”
Exhaling, Angela gives her iced mocha a shake, then asks, “Are you straight?”
As soon as the words escape Angela’s mouth, Amanda laughs. Full-bodied, loud, and wonderful. Like Angela just said the funniest joke on stage and Amanda was all of her intended audiences in one person. It doesn’t even matter that they are in Starbucks, or that the family next to their table gives them a look of concern. It doesn’t last long though, as Amanda settles down, clutches her own coffee, and drinks from it.
“Man. That always gets me. No, I’m not straight.” Amanda drinks from her coffee again, then sets it aside. “But I do acknowledge that I am straight-passing enough to warrant that kind of question.”
“Something tells me you’ve been asked that before.”
“You have no idea. I haven’t been on Bumble for long, but men still swipe on me. Even after I adjusted the filters and everything.”
Angela nods, understanding the situation. “You should put “WOMEN ONLY”, all-caps, in your Bumble profile.”
“Hmm. One, somehow I think men would still be stupid enough to swipe on me,” Angela hums in agreement at this, “And, two… well. I think it depends.”
“Depends on what, exactly?”
Amanda shrugs, leans forward afterwards. She puts both elbows on the table. She gets closer to Angela’s face, and for a moment, Angela feels like her life expectancy is shortening.
Amanda’s reply sucks all the air out of Angela’s lungs.
“It depends on whether or not we're going out for that second date.”