The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            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.