So much for discussing moving.
* * *
• • •
Chuck: So? How goes it?
Hallie picked up her glass and finished the last swallow of Riesling and responded with so far so good. She’d been sitting in bed with her phone since eight, just scrolling through available men. She’d heard the jokes about dudes being terrible at making good profiles, and it was actually not a lie. If what she’d looked at so far was indicative of the male species as a whole, there was a strong belief amongst them that a picture of a man with a fish was the pinnacle of profile photos.
Chuck: Jamie wants to know how swipe-happy you are.
Hallie snorted and responded: I haven’t swiped on anyone yet. I’m just window shopping.
Hallie was surprised by the eye candy. She simply hadn’t expected there to be so many relatively attractive specimens. But she could already see the cross-referencing problems.
Hallie: One guy is cute, but he’s wearing a backward hat and holding a beer in every single picture.
One guy has a nice face, but the fact that he thinks a picture of him holding up the head of a deer he killed by the antlers is a good profile photo tells me we wouldn’t be soul mates.
Hallie rolled her eyes when Chuck responded with Just go for it, you pussy!
She was going to take her time, and maybe not even swipe on anyone for a few days. There was no hurry—
“Holy shit!” Hallie squinted and clicked on the profile. It sure looked a lot like the wedding dude . . .
Jack Marshall.
Yep.
Dear God, it was him.
The photo was from the wedding—she’d remember him in that tux forever—so it had to have been taken the night she ended up sheet-wrestling with him. He was smiling and holding up a glass of champagne—giving his toast—and man, he was a stunningly beautiful human.
Whoa, he was a landscape architect. That sounded . . . interesting.
For some reason, she was surprised to see a guy like him on the app. He’d seemed too confident and dashing to be single.
But then she remembered.
Holy God, the man had bought an engagement ring and planned to propose a week ago. A week ago he’d been in love enough to pop the question, and now he was already on the app looking for ladies?
Clearly there was something majorly wrong with him.
She didn’t know what possessed her, but she wanted to mess with him. Hallie clicked on the message box and started typing.
Hey, Jack, it’s Hallie, the bartender from your sister’s wedding! Why haven’t you called? I really thought we connected and you were going to call, but . . . did you lose my number?
She sucked in a breath when she saw the conversation bubbles. Holy crap, he was responding! He was probably freaking out at the thought of a throwaway one-nighter coming for him, and something about that idea made her cackle.
After a few minutes, a message popped up:
Jack: Hey there, Hallie. I had a lot of fun with you after the wedding, and you seem like a cool person.
Oh, dear God, he thought she was serious. She typed:
God, Jack, relax. I’m just messing with you. I DO NOT WANT TO DATE YOU.
Jack: Uh wow ok.
Hallie: I saw your profile when I was shopping for soul mates and thought it would be fun to give you a heart attack. I never gave you my number and I didn’t expect you to call.
Conversation bubbles popped up and went away. Popped up and went away. Finally he messaged: So . . . you’re on here legitimately looking for love?
Hallie: Pathetic, right? But don’t worry, you’re not on my list.
Jack: First of all, I’m doing the same thing, so I’m going to go with no, that’s not pathetic. Second of all, I can’t believe I’m not on your list after our amazing night together.
Hallie groaned and looked up from the phone; she couldn’t believe he brought it up. But she also couldn’t hold in the smile as she typed: We were just so hammered—it’s all kind of a blur.
Jack: But . . . ?
She let out a little squeaking sound and kicked her feet against the mattress, unable to believe they were having this conversation.
Hallie: But what? All in all, it was a fine time.
The reality was that the night had been red-hot and so good, but she’d also been crazy drunk, so that meant nothing. Kermit the Frog might’ve been able to scratch her itch if enough whiskey had been involved.
Jack: Fine?? Come ON, Hal.
For some reason, his usage of her shortened name did something to her stomach as she messaged: Not talking about this. I remember nothing.
That was a bald-faced lie. She remembered absolutely every minute of that night, from the very first kiss in the kitchen, to her hand on the elevator stop button, right down to the feel of his callused palms as they gripped her hips in that king-sized hotel bed.
Jack: You don’t want to hear about the adorable noise you make when you . . .
Hallie: PLEASE GOD NO
Jack: I was going to say sneeze. But I do have your bra if you ever want it back.
Hallie: Where was it??
Jack: Underneath me. It was there the whole time you were belly-crawling around the bed.
Hallie did scream then, but quietly enough so Ruthie didn’t come running in with one of her fencing foils.
Hallie: You were fake sleeping?!
Jack: It was obvious you wanted the quick exit, so who was I to get in the way?
She was laughing when she responded with: Well, um, thank you, I guess . . . ?
Jack: You’re welcome, it would seem . . . ?
Hallie readjusted her pillows and got comfortable. So tell me something, Jack Marshall. What is it you’re looking for on this app? TRUTH ONLY.
She wasn’t actually expecting the truth, so his answer shocked the hell out of her.
Jack: Okay, truth only. The truth is that I have a lot of friends and a good job, and I date often enough, but I want someone important in my life. {insert your laughing at this desperate guy here}
Hallie would’ve been touched by the sentiment if it weren’t for the fact that he’d had someone important in his life last week. Talk about a desperate need to be in a relationship. Still . . .
Hallie: Truth only: I’m looking for pretty much the same thing. She didn’t want him to misunderstand, so she added: Only not with you, so don’t get all squirmy again.
Jack: Rest assured, I will not squirm.
Hallie: Well, good luck on finding your perfect woman.
Jack: Good luck to you, as well. Your bra is hanging from my rearview mirror if you change your mind and want it back.