“Because,” Tucker said, dragging his head back in the conversation. “There might be more Codys?”

Della shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not giving up after one non-date.” She went back to swiping. “There’s a guy wearing a traffic cone on his head who describes himself as a space gypsy?” More swiping. “Or bathroom-selfie guy whose carpet apparently matches the drapes.”

Tucker almost choked on his beer. What the hell?

“Oooh.” She sat up high and looked around the bar. “Says he’s under a mile away…he could be in here.”

“Ohh-kay. Nope.” Tucker snatched the phone out of her hand. “No bathroom-selfie dudes.”

“What’s wrong with a bathroom selfie?”

He glanced at her. “You want a guy who’s going to be looking at you or himself?”

She nodded slowly. “Good point.”

Tucker returned his attention to the phone. “No guys wearing traffic cones or big spoons. Jesus. Have all dudes in their twenties had lobotomies?”

“I don’t think they’ve ever been subjected to Arlo’s the perils of social media class.”

Tucker laughed as he swiped left and left and left on so many dickheads. “They all failed if they did.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning in close to peer over his shoulder.

“Trying to find someone who isn’t an idiot among this lot.”

“But how can you tell? I mean, sure, there are some obvious hard passes, but most of them present well.”

Tucker snorted. “I’m a guy. Trust me, I speak fluent idiot. Like this one?” He stopped at Trent, who was twenty-four, wearing a suit, and holding a red SOLO cup.

“Games champion, freelancer, runner,” she read.

“Which means he wins at beer pong, is unemployed, and doesn’t have his own car.”

She laughed, and for a second her forehead pressed into his biceps, and he could smell cupcakes again, and Tucker’s brain temporarily shorted out.

“Okay, then fine. You’re right. I need help. Congratulations. You’re now my official Tinder wingman.”

His brain kicked back into gear. “Wait. What?” He shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. You said it yourself. You speak fluent idiot. You can help me navigate this whole confusing maze.” She laid her hand on his arm and said, “Please, Tuck?”

Crap. A sudden flare of heat bloomed behind his sternum. He never had been able to say no to Della. Tucker was doomed.

“Fine.” He sighed. She needed his help, and he did speak guy.

She did a little seat jig and clapped her hands together. “Also, I need to ask another favor.” She dug around in her bag and handed over the booklet from the DMV. “Can you teach me to drive?”

Tucker looked at the offering. It made sense that Della 2.0 would want her own wheels. But him and her and cupcake in the close confines of his truck? Christ. He glanced up from the booklet. “I think Arlo might want to do that.”