The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(16)

He scrunched up his nose. “Said the most boring girl in history. Try again.”

“I watch TV,” she tried again, and realized that she absolutely was the most boring girl. “I like to run, and nothing thrills me quite like a New Girl marathon.”

“Come on, TB—strive for interesting. At least throw on an accent. That makes anything sound exciting.”

“Okay.” Hallie racked her brain before saying in a deplorable Southern accent, “I sew tiny articles of clothing for baby chipmunks, y’all.”

“Do you actually do that?”

“Of course not, y’all.”

“People from the South don’t say ‘y’all’ in every sentence.”

“You sure, y’all?”

“You must stop that at once.”

“Fine.” She cleared her throat before whispering, Y’all.

“On a side note, even if you did sew tiny chipmunk attire, it’s only interesting if it involves short-shorts.”

“On me or the chipmunks?”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously the chipmunks.”

“Obviously.”

He said, “Okay, well, let’s hope you don’t get asked that question. How about this—what do you do for a living?”

They reached the corner and stopped, waiting for the light to change. She said, “I am a tax accountant. What about you?”

“Amateur taxidermist.”

Hallie turned and looked up at him. Something about the teasing glint in his eye made her think of Chris Evans; they both had that “I would prank you so hard” vibe. She attempted a British accent and replied, “That sounds bloody fascinating. How long have you been doing that?”

“Since they told me being an amateur mortician is a felony.”

“Well, that is certainly alarming, you frigging bloke, but—”

“No.” Jack put his large hand over her mouth, leaned a little closer, and said, “No more accents.”

Hallie just blinked up at him.

“Okay?” he asked, not removing his hand as he smiled wickedly, like a dark-haired, blue-eyed villain.

She nodded, and he dropped his palm from her face and said, “I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be so bad at accents. I look at the world differently now that I’ve heard those voices.”

“I do a stellar Irish lilt, so your loss by cutting me off.”

“I’m comfortable with that.”

When they finally reached the bar, Hallie’s nerves returned. She reached up and straightened her hair as he grabbed the door and pulled it open. He gave her a relaxed, confident smile as he held the door for her and said, “You ready to date at a ridiculously high rate of speed, Piper?”

“I guess,” she said, her stomach dipping as the noise of the bar suddenly engulfed her. “But don’t ditch me if you connect with someone, okay?”

His eyes narrowed and his smile softened into something she couldn’t put her finger on. He said, “Okay.”

They were barely inside the bar when a woman with a microphone started going over the event. She explained it was “typical” speed dating, which meant five minutes per date with a bell notifying participants of when it was time to advance to the next person. Everyone was given a tiny notepad (with the words Love Happens on the front—gag) and pencil so they could jot down the names of dates they connected with so they could communicate with them after the event.

“The ladies will be seated at the tables over there,” the woman said, pointing toward the side of the room where tables were lined up side by side, “and our gentlemen will rotate.”

“Why?” Hallie asked, not really meaning to interrupt. “I read an article last night in which researchers discovered that whichever gender is seated at these events tends to be pickier about their selections, whereas the person approaching is more accepting.”

The woman’s smile stayed pinned on her mouth, but her eyes lost their perk. “Well, wouldn’t that work in your favor, as someone who will be seated?”

Hallie rolled her eyes. “Respectfully, it seems incredibly sexist to have women lined up to receive suitors, don’t you think? Aren’t we more evolved than that?”

She heard Jack snort, and it was then that she realized she should have kept her big mouth shut.





Jack


Jack couldn’t hold in his grin as the participants all looked at Hallie as if she were suggesting they play the game naked or something. They probably thought she was a militant feminist, but he kind of wanted to hear more about the study.

Also, she wasn’t wrong.

“I see what you’re saying,” the lady said, “but this is just the way speed dating is usually done. I can take your ideas back to—”

Jack raised his hand and said, “The odd woman makes a good point. I’d like to sit. Maybe we should randomly draw numbers to decide who sits and who rotates, just to keep it ‘modern.’?”

He didn’t really give a damn who sat and who stood, but he also didn’t want Hallie to be ostracized for having an intelligent, independent thought.

“Um,” the organizer said, sounding exasperated as she looked around the bar, “I guess we can try something new.”