Hallie: I will go with 1 because it’s just dinner. And I thought I looked sexy AF.
Jack gritted his teeth as he remembered what this was for. Duh.
Jack: Going out with Alex?
Hallie: I really think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.
He dialed her number, and she was laughing when she answered. “You would, Jack.”
God, it was pathetic, the way the sound of her voice shot through him like a buzz. “Doubtful. Where are you going?”
She said the name of a restaurant he’d never heard of, and he said, “No matter how good the food is, don’t put out. The third-date rule is bullshit and you shouldn’t cave to that pressure.”
What in the fuck was that? He kind of wanted to punch himself in the face for that one.
“What are you, fifteen?” She was laughing and outraged all at the same time, he could tell. “I will put out—gross, by the way—if I feel like it, thank you very much.”
He knew it was immature, but the thought of her kissing Alex made his gut hurt. Hell, the thought of her kissing any man made his gut hurt. He wasn’t sure how he’d gone from zero to full-bore feelings for Hal, but it made him feel like a bit of a shit show. “I just meant that he seems a little slick to me and I want you to be careful.”
“Awww,” she said, her voice teasing and quiet. “It’s so adorable when you make me want to hug you and throat-punch you all at the same time.”
“That’s my sweet spot,” he said, trying to force himself to stop thinking about her and Alex.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.
“Walking to a bar to eat in solitude.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” she said, sounding ridiculously cheery.
“Nah,” he said.
“Why not? You don’t like Minnesota girls?”
“I don’t like meeting strangers in bars.”
“I’m sorry—what?”
“Seriously.”
“The judges need clarification. Jack Marshall, man known to get freaky in hotel elevators with red-hot bartenders he doesn’t know, doesn’t like picking up chicks in bars?”
“I’ve always thought it was creepy.”
She sounded amused when she said, “Please explain.”
“It just seems idiotic to see someone and decide you like their appearance enough to start a conversation. It feels so . . . ?”
“Superficial?”
“Bingo.”
“I have to go put on makeup, but I’m intrigued by this side of you. So you’re saying it seems wrong to select a possible mate by their looks without considering their brain first?”
“You have a way with words, and yes.”
“Wow, I might be a little turned on by this feministic outlook on the bar scene,” she teased. “Text me later if you’re bored, okay?”
“Okay.” He cleared his throat and said, “Have fun.”
“But not too much fun, right? Not putting out fun?”
“You’re such a little shit,” he said with a laugh.
He ended the call as he walked into McKenna’s. He bellied up to the bar, where he’d always sat with his uncle Mack, and ordered a burger and a beer.
He looked around—it was starting to get busy for happy hour—and thought how weird it was being there without him.
In the past, Jack had loved it when work sent him to the Twin Cities, because it’d been an excuse to stay with his favorite uncle and hang out. Mack lived in the building above the bar, so McKenna’s had felt like his own personal kitchen. Every time Jack crashed there, he and Mack hit the bar for nearly every meal.
Everyone who walked through the door seemed to know Mack, and everyone who worked there treated him like family. He was like a beloved icon, the person who made life come alive when he entered a room.
And every time Jack visited, Mack had had a different girlfriend.
They all had one thing in common, though: They were fun.
Every girl Mack had ever introduced him to had been beautiful, funny, and down to have a good time. Jack had grown up watching the guy and wanted to be just like him. He’d wondered countless times over the years why anyone would rush to get married and settle down when you could live like that.
Mack wasn’t the life of the party—Mack was the party, wherever he went.
“Here.” The bartender set down Jack’s food and said, “Need ketchup?”
Jack looked at the man and didn’t recognize him. “No, thanks.”