“It means it’s guys and girls,” says Casey.

“Isn’t that how all speed dating works?” I question.

“Yes, but with this round, you may be paired with a guy for one conversation, and a girl with the next one. Either way, you have sixty seconds with each person.”

“With all due respect, Casey, I think you know by now that I’m purely into men.”

“So then you’ll make a few friends while on the hunt for your next lover. I said don’t freak out. Just roll with it, okay? I’m going to freshen up my makeup in the ladies’ room. I feel like I’m very shiny.”

“You’re not,” I assure her.

“Yeah, but I feel like I am. Don’t go anywhere, homey.”

With Casey out of sight tending to her phantom sweaty forehead issues, I neurotically tap my Apple Watch and check it for messages again. There are no new ones.

I proceed to speak into my watch and fire off a good old-fashioned Is everything OK? text, but when I do, the message to Brian gets kicked back as undeliverable. Assuming it’s a glitch with the watch, I take out my phone and try again. No dice with that either.

Dear god, I think to myself. It has started—the lack of cell phone reception has officially kicked in as we have made it far enough away from the coastline to be unable to connect with the rest of the world. Here’s to hoping there are no icebergs out here.

“Bourbon and ginger?” the cocktail waitress calls out as she hands me my order.

“Yes, thank you.” I claim it and tip her a dollar. “Hey, can you tell me the code to the Wi-Fi as well?”

“Wi-Fi? There’s no Wi-Fi, honey.”

“There are stickers all over the ship that say Wi-Fi Enabled,” I gently point out.

“Yes, but the event organizers had us disconnect it for the night. Said they want their participants focused on each other, not their phones. Sorry, sweetie. I feel your pain.” She lets out a frustrated huff and walks away to deliver the rest of the drinks on her tray.

I’m calling bullshit. They didn’t cut the internet so we could focus on each other; they cut it—along with deciding to serve bottom-shelf bourbon, flat ginger ale, and host this thing on a Sunday night—to save money. Cheap asses.

Regardless, no service and no Wi-Fi mean no way to deal with the ominous It’s fine text Brian sent me. I dread the thought that he may assume I’m ignoring him when something is clearly on his mind. This is the worst possible situation right now.

“Alright, Char-Char. It’s our turn to hit the speed dating tables,” Casey says as she sneaks up behind me.

Wait, no. Maybe that’s the worst possible situation right now.

“Do you know there’s no internet on this ship?” I ask as she ushers me to a row of ten bistro-sized tables, each with two chairs at them.

“Who cares?”