: Chapter 4

“What do you think?”

“I love it.” Hallie looked in the mirror and smiled. She’d had the stylist take off four inches and give her some color, so now she had a shoulder-length bob with some subtle highlights, and she’d also gotten her brows done. Between that and the clothes she’d bought online the day before, she really did feel like some sort of “new” Hallie Piper.

She was making it happen, dammit.

She’d taken the day off to fix her life, and she was so glad she had.

First, she’d put in her notice at both of her part-time jobs. It was mind-boggling, all the time she was going to have for . . . well, pretty much anything, now that she would only be working from nine to five.

After that, she’d spent the morning looking at apartments, and an hour ago, she’d put down a security deposit on a new place. She hadn’t meant to—she hadn’t even told Ruthie she was moving yet, and it was only the first day of the hunt—but the last building she’d visited had been too perfect to pass up. It was downtown, a former-hospital-turned-modern-apartment-complex, and it was amazing. City views, rooftop patio, indoor pool, sports bar in the lobby; she was obsessed. It was a little north of her price point, and waaaaay smaller than the others she’d looked at, but she liked it enough to make it work.

It was just so grown-up.

And as she walked to her car after leaving the salon, she found that she couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was falling into place, and it made her feel good. She wasn’t a hot mess shit show any longer.

She even had a date that night.

She’d been messaging Kyle through the app for a couple of days, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about their impending evening. He had a job and seemed like a nice person, so that was good. But their exchanges were pretty . . . matter-of-fact. Yes, he could be amusing, but they didn’t have the kind of banter that made Hal want to lock herself in her bedroom and chat all night, either.

Yet.

She kept reminding herself of that fact—they didn’t have it yet. Hopefully they would meet up for dinner, share a few laughs, have a great time, and proceed to banter the hell out of each other from that night forward.

A girl could dream, right?

When Hallie got home, she was relieved that Ruthie was out. Her roommate had left a note on the door—WENT FLISPING IN GD. BE BACK TOMORROW—so she was alone for the entire night.

Hallie rarely understood Ruthie’s notes. She had no idea what flisping was, but it probably involved being upside down with strangers or something. And GD—that was anybody’s guess.

She turned on some music, opened a bottle of Lucky Bucket, and started putting on makeup. She had two hours before she was meeting Kyle, which she considered to be the perfect amount of time to pick an outfit, do her makeup, and maybe catch a tiny buzz to ward off those first-date-in-eighty-five-years nerves.

She was in her closet, rummaging for the black pants that made her butt look amazing, when her phone buzzed. She looked down at it and saw she had a notification from Looking4TheReal. She clicked on the app and realized she was actually hoping that it was Kyle canceling.

The notification stamp (a heart, of course) was on her inbox. Hallie clicked on it and immediately felt disappointment when she didn’t see Kyle’s name.

The message was from Jack, the wedding guy.

Jack: Hey, Tiny Bartender. How’s the hunt going?

Hallie sat down on her shoe shelf. You sure know how to make it sound romantic.

Jack: Sorry. Let me start over. AHEM. Have you found a man via your Soulmate-Home-Shopping-Network app?

Hallie: It is exactly like that, isn’t it?

Jack: Only instead of beautiful jewels for just 14.99, you’re mulling over whether to proceed to checkout with Dude Who Caught Fish.

Hallie snorted. I kind of want to just sit here and mock our dating lives right now, but I actually have a date tonight.

Jack: The hell you say.

Hallie: I clicked on the first guy I could find without a dead creature in his profile pic (who didn’t look like an ogre) and he seems nice.

Jack: Wow. He seems nice? Is that where the bar is set—at nice?

Hallie: What’s wrong with nice?

Jack: Nothing. I mean, I’m sure you cannot LIVE without getting railed by a “nice” guy.

Hallie: Eww, can you explain the particulars of what getting “railed” entails? It sounds . . . torturous. Painful. I think you might be doing it wrong.

Jack: HAL.

She started giggling in her closet and texted: I’m mocking the terminology and THAT IS ALL.

Hallie saw the pants hanging at the end of the rack, so she grabbed them and went back into her room.

Jack: I will concede that getting railed is a shit phrase. May I toss out other options for your approval? I also have a date this evening and want to make sure I don’t say something offensive.

Hallie: WAIT. YOU HAVE A DATE? Was it through the app? Tell me everything.

Jack: Settle your ass down. Yes, through the app. According to her profile, she’s blond, works in marketing, and enjoys running and getting railed.

Hallie: Haha. Are you excited?

Jack: Honestly? Not at all. She seemed cool when we talked, but there’s something nerve-racking about meeting up with someone for the first time when there’s already a love/dating expectation. Chemistry is the thing that matters most on a first date, and it’s so hard for it to be there naturally when everything feels formulaic.

He hit it on the head, why she felt like she was getting ready for a job interview. Hallie dropped her sweatpants and stepped into the good pants.

Hallie: HARD feel that. Hopefully we will both have delightful evenings.

Jack: Your lips to Ditka’s ears. Also, what about “bonked”?

Hallie: First of all, Ditka is not God. And nope, that’s not it.

Jack: Blasphemy. How about “getting hammered.”

Hallie: Sounds like a home repair.

Jack: Getting my parts jostled?

Hallie: Are you going in for your annual checkup or having sex?

Jack: I’ve got it. “Playing a little in and out”?

Hallie: You are a child, a tiny little man boy who will not be getting bonked, hammered, jostled, or railed if you say any of those things.

Jack: What about “making love”?

Hallie: Vomited in my mouth a little.

Jack: FINE. I’m just taking her out for food and conversation now. You ruined everything.

Hallie: Well, good luck, Jack.

Jack: Good luck to you, Tiny Bartender.

Hallie: I’m not a bartender anymore, FYI.

Jack: You’ll always be MY tiny bartender, but what happened? Did they fire you for getting railed by the best man at a wedding you worked?

Hallie: Ignoring your dipshittery to say that I quit both of my part-time jobs to be a full-time grown-up.

Jack: So if I want to return that engagement ring . . .

Hallie: You’ll have to bother someone else.

Jack: Too bad. You’re quickly becoming my favorite person to bother.

Hallie: Later, Jack.

Jack: Later, TB.

Hallie: You do see why that cannot be a thing, right?

Jack: My apologies for calling you an infectious disease.

Hallie: I hope you never have to say that to me again.

Jack: You should be so lucky.

“Why are you smiling like a jackass?” Colin asked.

Jack looked up from his phone, and Colin was watching him like he’d lost his damn mind. He replied, “Why are you staring at me like a creep?”

Colin flipped him off, and Jack set down his phone and said, “Your wedding bartender is fucking hilarious, if you must know.”

“So you two are talking now?” Colin asked, picking up a wing and raising his eyes to the wall of TVs above the bar.

“Not like that.” Jack finished off his wings while he told Colin about the app and his conversations with Hallie. “And don’t mention it to Liv. I don’t want her to think it’s a thing when it isn’t.”

Colin grinned. “Your sister doesn’t have a lot going on right now, so this really would get her mind firing.”

“Poor Livvie,” Jack said, laughing.

The morning after their wedding, the Uber driver who was supposed to take Colin and Olivia to the airport accidentally ran over her foot. Thankfully, he just got her toes, so no surgery was required, but they had to reschedule the honeymoon because she couldn’t even wear a shoe over her swollen, broken toes.

“She’s okay,” Colin said, still wearing the dumb smile he always wore when he talked about Liv. “I took her to Barnes & Noble, so she’s in bookish heaven at the moment.”

“She probably doesn’t even care about the foot anymore.”

“Right?” Colin wiped his fingers on a napkin and reached for his beer. “Is there anything you do want me to report to her about the dating app, by the way?”

“Oh, shit, what time is it?” Jack looked down at his watch and muttered, “Yeah, you can report to her that I have a date tonight.”

He raised his hand and gestured to the waitress that he was ready to settle his tab.

“You just inhaled twelve wings and now you’re going to dinner?” Colin looked equal parts impressed and disgusted. “Seriously?”

“Yup.” Jack picked up his glass and finished the last of his iced tea. If he were being totally honest, he wasn’t looking forward to the date. At all. He still felt like shit about Vanessa, but not because he was heartbroken about the breakup or hesitant to move on.

No, Jack felt like a goddamn fool.

If he was sad about Vanessa, it was because he was sad to learn he was wholly lacking in self-awareness and good judgment. He was sad to discover he was too desperate to see things clearly.

Because how had he ever thought he and Van were a good idea?

She was beautiful, and a decent person (when she wasn’t being jealous), but they were wildly different. He liked eating wings and watching football, whereas she liked pointing out how disgusting wings were and how pointless football was. He’d grown up with three dogs and was an animal lover, but Vanessa thought dogs had revolting breath and had repeatedly told him that she would never, ever get one.

She’d even said ewwww when his dad’s dog licked her hand.

Which, honestly, should’ve been the world’s biggest red flag, right? What kind of a monster says “ewwww” in regard to Maury the Pug?

Yet instead of parting ways with Miss Dog Hater, he’d purchased a diamond ring for her. He’d ignored everything that should’ve been obvious to him in his rush for . . . hell, he didn’t even know what he’d been rushing toward, exactly.

But what if he made that sort of mistake again? Was he so pathetic that he’d blindly latch onto anything pretty and interested?

He forced his neuroses out of his mind and said, “This way I can order something healthy and look responsible.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Nope.” Jack pulled out his wallet and tossed a twenty on the table. “I’m a genius.”

“I think you mean moron.” Colin picked up another wing and gave him a look. “Have fun on your date, moron.”