The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            She nodded, grabbed a roll, and said, “I’m a tax accountant for—”

            “Holy crap, this is fate!” Kyle smeared butter on his bun. “I’ve been looking for a new tax guy—mine moved to Frisco—and boom, here you are.”

            I am tax guy? she thought.

            He took a bite of his roll, smiled, and said, “How much do you charge?”

            Hallie tore off a piece of her roll. “I don’t actually do people’s taxes; I’m a corporate tax accountant at HCC Corporation.”

            His eyebrows went down. “But you know how to do them, right?”

            “Well, yeah—” she started, but he interrupted her.

            “So it’ll be some nice side money for you.”

            She didn’t want to seem like a jerk, but she had no interest in doing anyone’s taxes. “Yeah, but I don’t really need any side money right now.”

            He snorted and said, “What are you, rich?”

            Okay, that condescending tone was not necessary, and she was over it.

            “Rich enough to not have to do my blind date’s taxes,” she blurted out, regretting it immediately when, instead of laughing, his face got really, really red.

            Needless to say, Hallie was unlocking her front door at nine thirty p.m. Which, to be fair, didn’t bother her all that much. She’d become quite the homebody since she and Ben had broken up, so Netflix and flannel pants were kind of her jam.

            An hour later, when she was knuckle-deep in a bowl of popcorn, she got a message notification from the app. Please don’t let it be Kyle, she thought, imagining him reaching out to see if she’d reconsidered her aggressive opinions. She clicked into her messages and was happy to see it was Jack, not Kyle.

            Jack: So . . . ? Did you find a love connection?

            Hallie: Hardly. I found a man who got mad when I said I wouldn’t do his taxes.

            Jack: Oof. Sorry, TB.

            Hallie: Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?

            Jack: Yeah, but I can’t help myself.

            Hallie: So what about you? How was your date?

            Jack: It wasn’t a date, it was an interview.

            Hallie: She asked a lot of questions?

            Jack: NOPE. I asked her questions—so what do you do, did you grow up here, etc. etc.—and she answered each question. Then . . . she didn’t say another word but just stared at me or her food.

            Hallie: So it was like you were interviewing her and she was . . . ?

            Jack: Absolutely uninterested in getting to know me.

            Hallie: You didn’t say anything about getting your parts jiggled, did you?

            Jack: It was jostled, and no. Maybe I should have.

            Hallie: Did she seem like soul mate material if she HAD felt like engaging with your junk-jostled self?

            Jack: Not at all.

            Hallie took a sip of her soda and set it on the coffee table. I guess I’m making an assumption. Maybe you aren’t looking for a soul mate.

            Jack: No, I am.

            Hallie thought of his ex—what was her stupid name? Cam? Stran?

            Van! Vanessa. Okay, so it wasn’t really a stupid name, but Hal still couldn’t get over the fact that he’d chosen her. To propose to. He clearly had I-can’t-be-single issues. She didn’t really know him, other than the fact that he was just as sarcastic as she was, but she still had to ask.

            Hallie: Okay, don’t be pissed, because I’m not judging, but, like, you JUST broke up with your very serious girlfriend. How can you already be looking for a soul mate?

            Jack: It’s a fair question, so I’ll allow it.

            Hallie: Gee, thanks.