The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            “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.”

            As he unrolled the utensils with the napkin wrapped around them and watched the TV behind the bar, he found it surreal that there wasn’t some sort of accounting of the time his uncle had spent there, some kind of tribute to the man who’d been more mascot than customer.

            A plaque, a picture, a retired barstool—there was nothing.

            No evidence Uncle Mack had ever been there.

            It was like he’d never existed.

            Taking a long pull from his pint, Jack thought back to the wake. The whole family had been at the mortuary, hanging out at the visitation and sharing stories, but no one else had shown up. He hadn’t realized at first because the family was so big, but none of Mack’s friends, no one from the bar, none of his girlfriends—not a single person from Mack’s daily life had shown up to pay their respects.

            It still pissed him off, and as he ate his dinner and the place thrummed with early-evening energy, he got more pissed for Mack. It was honestly depressing, that his uncle thought he’d been tight with his friends and this bar. Had he been wrong? Had they all humored him but didn’t really give a shit? The women who had fawned over him—what were their stories? Where had they disappeared to?

            As much as his mom liked to refer to her brother as a “hopeless bachelor,” Mack had been more than that. He’d been the kindest, funniest, most generous person Jack had ever met, but since he’d chosen not to settle down, his life was just written off as less valuable.

            Damn, Jack thought. He was getting far too introspective sitting here alone, and he needed more beer.

            He finished his dinner, pounding a few beers while glaring at everyone who dared to hang out in that bar and watch football. All of a sudden, the place he’d considered to be one of his favorite restaurants in the world sucked. He didn’t want to be at that asshole bar anymore, so as soon as the game ended, he paid his tab and went back to his hotel.

            He was walking into his room when Hallie texted.