After a hectic week working, I like to unwind with a basketball game with the guys. It’s my chance to blow off some steam—to forget about the office and everything else I might have planned. The closest thing to work on the court is the sweat we’re all working up. Usually. But this time, Seb has to open his mouth and mention McKenna and our deal. She’d probably be happy to know that even on my time off, I’m ending up thinking about her damned app.

“True love?” Cash, who’s playing two-on-two on my side, laughs as he sinks a basket. He’s got a furniture-design company, and we met back when I was furnishing my apartment. “This I’ve got to see.” He retrieves the ball and passes it to Jake Weston, another buddy of mine. “So how soon do we get to meet this soulmate of yours?”

“I haven’t even met her yet.” I dodge to the side and block Jake’s run at the basket.

“You said you have a date with her this afternoon,” Seb corrects me. I snatch the ball out of the air and shoot. It bounces off the backboard . . . and hits the rim, tipping out instead of in. Damn. My focus is off. Not hard to figure why.

“I have a date with a woman, who may or may not be soulmate material, today,” I correct him. “I’m betting on not.”

Jake laughs. “Bets can be dangerous things. And hey, I landed my soulmate with her betting against me.”

“I think I’m going to skip the ladies making public chastity pledges, as well as that worked out for you.” Jake’s love story is a pretty crazy one—and a one-in-a-million situation that could only happen by chance. His fiancée swore off sex and started a general strike among womankind—and he took the bet to make her break it.

“I know you like to talk about how much fun you’re having, but you’re going to get the itch to settle down soon,” Seb says. “I know it. You too, Cash.”

“I’m happy living the single life, thanks,” Cash grins.

Jake shakes his head. “That just means you haven’t met the right one yet. Just wait until Jack gets matched up with Miss Right. Then it’ll be three against one!”

I toss the ball to him. “I think you’ll be waiting on that for a while. I wouldn’t mind getting lucky—back at my place. But that other kind of lucky? Not from a computer program. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“I don’t know,” Seb says. “McKenna seemed to know her stuff.”

I can’t deny that. Every time I talk to the woman, I’m more impressed by the dedication she brings to her work. And the fact that she hasn’t backed down even when I’ve admittedly jerked her around. It’s hard to resist giving her a hard time when she’s so serious. But she was obviously listening when I started giving her pointers.

You have to be able to adapt to make it in business—and pleasure. So maybe giving her dating plan a chance isn’t the worst idea in the world.

---

After we finish our game, I shower and change, then head out for this ultimate date of mine. I’m meeting Match #1 for an art-walk gallery tour, and when I check the email to remind myself about her, I see that Darcy works in a gallery and is a self-described modern sculpture enthusiast. I know enough about art to fake my way through conversation at charity functions, but I’m hoping she’s not a one-track mind.

“Darcy?” I find her already waiting outside the first gallery when I get there. She looks exactly like her profile photo: beautiful, blonde, and graceful, in skinny jeans and a loose sweater. My mood improves. This is off to a good start. “Hi, I’m Jack. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“You’re right on time. I’m so glad you made it.” She’s got a smile that could light up a room. All right, I have to admit, this looks promising.

We exchange small talk as the rest of the tour group gathers. One of McKenna’s associates recruited her at yoga class, and this is her first date using the app. “I prefer to meet people in person,” she admits, “but these days, everyone’s online.”

“I hope I live up to the Perfect Match promise,” I crack, and she gives me a flirty smile.

“So far, so good.”

By the time we head into the gallery, I’ve got Darcy relaxed and chatting easily. She flips her hair back and brushes my arm as she talks, clearly signaling her interest. If I were just looking to hook up, I’d be set. But this app is supposed to deliver me my soulmate, not just another fling. And as far as that’s concerned, the jury’s still out.

“You’re the sculpture expert,” I say to Darcy, peering at a work that looks like a metal horse-and-rider, but melted into each other. It’s rather eerie. “What do you think of this?”

She cocks her head. “Hmm. That’s not really my taste. Now this—this is spectacular.”

She tugs me over to look at . . . a big plastic blob. Honestly, there’s no better way to describe it. The thing is a bulbous orange lump with streaks of gray swirled in. Like a very shiny piece of chewed gum discarded by a giant.

“That is really . . . something.” I try to be diplomatic.

“Isn’t it?” Darcy gushes. “The way the artist captured the passion of the storm, but with the contrast of color to show it represents his fraught relationship with his mother.”

Huh. I was not getting any of that. I take a couple of steps around the blob, but I’m still not seeing any waves, rain, or mothers. “You’ve got a real eye,” I say, and Lord help me, she blushes.

“Is there anything else here that grabs your attention?” I say. “I’d love to hear more of your thoughts.”

It turns out Darcy is generally fond of blobs. She oohs and aahs over a pale blue one that looks like a giant melted marble, but apparently depicts the artist’s struggle with her rigid schooling. Then there’s the sculpture made out of two blobs, neon green and yellow, grappling with each other. “What a perfect depiction of spring blossoming!” Darcy says.

“Oh, yes. Definitely,” I agree, trying to keep a straight face.

The guide calls for our group to follow him out to the next stop on the tour. “How did you get into sculpture, anyway?” I ask Darcy politely.

She brightens again as we amble down the street. “Well, my dad took me to the Met for the first time when I was ten, and . . .”

I keep listening, but my eyes go to a figure on the other side of the street. A woman is meandering along as if window-shopping, just a little behind our group. Her hair is hidden under a fedora, and she’s hidden under a bulky trench coat. But I would know those black-framed glasses anywhere.

McKenna.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Did I think she’d just send me off on my date and wait patiently for me to report back?

That’s not her style.

Stalking apparently is. She follows us to the next gallery, and trails us around the room as Darcy gushes over the squiggles and blobs. I only half-listen, keeping one eye on McKenna as she tries her best to go unnoticed.

A super-spy she’s not.

By the time we’re done, I’m just itching to blow her cover. “This has been really interesting,” I tell Darcy. “Thank you for putting up with my uncultured ways.”

She laughs. “No, not at all. I know I’m a little overenthusiastic, if anything.”

“I don’t believe there’s any such thing as too much enthusiasm. But I really should get going now,” I say smoothly. “It was nice to meet you.”

Darcy may have unique tastes in art, but she’s not stupid. “You too,” she says with a smile. “Good luck out there.”

“You too.”

I turn away from the dispersing group and loop back outside to where McKenna is loitering in front of the gift-shop window. “Well, look who it is,” I say, tipping the brim of her hat up to reveal that inquisitive gaze. “See anything you like?”

McKenna flushes. Busted. “I was just . . . in the neighborhood.” She looks around. “Wait, where’s Darcy? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest. “You’re the one spying on me.”

“I needed to make sure you actually gave her a chance. And clearly, you didn’t.”

“Sure I did,” I say. “We talked plenty. She explained the history of modern art, which was . . . educating. There just wasn’t a spark.”

“You can’t expect to fall for someone in two hours,” McKenna protests. “As long as you at least liked her at this stage—”

I shake my head. “No. I knew in the first few minutes. I always do.”

McKenna’s eyebrows leap up. “A few minutes?” She looks appalled. “You can’t judge a person based on a brief first impression.”

“Sure you can.” I can only imagine what kind of first impressions she’s getting in this get-up. She looks like a cross between a hobo and a dowdy grandmother, but somehow, it’s still sexy. “You like research, don’t you?” I ask, trying to keep my mind off the curves that are hidden beneath her coat. “I’ve read plenty about instincts and intuition. They’re real things, and if you know how to pay attention to them, they don’t lie. I trust mine. They haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

McKenna looks frustrated, but she stops arguing. “I still want you to give the other two matches a proper chance.”

“Of course I will,” I agree. “That’s our deal, isn’t it?”

She bites her lip. Clearly, she’s not happy, but then I remember her whole funding deal hinges on these dates. I remember how stressed I felt going after my first deal, and decide to take pity on her.

“Look,” I say. “I’ve got an event tonight—there’s a digital media awards gala. Why don’t you step away from your app for a few hours and come with me?”

“As your date?” She instinctively crosses her arms. “I think you’re getting this backwards.”

I chuckle. “No. Just as my guest. It’ll be good for you, tons of networking opportunities. I’ll introduce you to everyone you’ll want to know.”

McKenna bites her lip again as she considers the invitation, and I can’t help wondering what sound she’d make if I were the one biting it. Before I can fall too far down that rabbit hole, she raises her chin.

“Fine,” she says, looking determined. “What time do I need to be ready?”

“Pick you up at eight,” I reply. “But there’s one rule.”

“What is it?”

“No matchmaking,” I say firmly. “For one night, you give this soulmate thing a break. And maybe leave the trench coat at home. Deal?”

McKenna sighs, then gives a nod. “Deal.”