The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(15)

“So now you know.”

“I do.” Hallie heard him clear his throat, like he was about to launch into a business presentation, and he said, “So, Hal. Listen. My sister told me about this speed dating event tomorrow night for young professionals. I wasn’t going to go, but the whole setup kind of makes sense for our situation, and since we’re both on the hunt . . .”

“Are you kidding me right now?” She’d never done speed dating, but she was fairly certain she would fail spectacularly at it. “I didn’t think speed dating was a thing anymore.”

“I have a flyer,” he said.

“That sounds culty,” she replied.

“Just come, you chickenshit.”

Hallie shook her head and said, “Text me a pic of the flyer and where we should meet. I’ll go, but only because I have a roommate issue I don’t want to deal with.”

“What’s her deal? Does she party all night? Eat all your food? Get too loud when she’s entertaining visitors?”

“No,” Hallie said. “I’m moving into my own place, and I’m scared to tell her because I don’t want her to feel sad.”

“Oh, my God, Hallie, are you a tender little sweetheart of a girl? I did not get that vibe from you. Although, to be fair, you bit my shoulder so hard it left a bruise, so it might’ve left a bad—and literal—impression on me.”

Her mouth dropped open. Hallie was torn between wanting to tell him to shut up and wanting him to confirm whether she’d actually left a mark, so she just said, “I’m hanging up now. Send the info if you want me to go.”

He let out a quiet, deep laugh and said, “Coming your way, TB.”





Chapter

SIX





Hallie pushed the door and exited Starbucks, glad she’d decided to show up a little early. She felt ridiculously nervous about talking to so many people, all in a row, and she needed a big old cup of caffeine to soothe her nerves.

Surely that couldn’t backfire, right?

She was meeting Jack outside the coffee shop at 7:40 p.m., and then they were going to walk two blocks down to the bar where the speed dating event was occurring. But before she could give the night another fleeting thought, there he was.

He walked down the sidewalk with long strides, and she realized as she watched him approach that he was even more attractive than she’d remembered.

He was tall, dark-haired, and handsome; she’d remembered that. But there was something about his face that screamed mischief. His eyes positively crackled as he looked around the entrance, presumably for her, and then they crinkled at the corners when he saw her and smiled.

Hot damn—it was ridiculous how gorgeous he was.

Wrong, actually. Positively unfair to the rest of the human race.

Thank God he was just her partner in crime, because he had the kind of face that left piles of broken hearts and the occasional bra behind.

“Wow. You look incredible, Tiny Bartender.” His eyes dipped down to her fuzzy black sweater and jeans, and she didn’t feel like he was checking her out but rather genuinely just saying she looked good that night.

Hallie rolled her eyes and said, “You only think I’m hot because we bonked.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a thing?”

She shrugged and wondered what kind of workout made a chest that broad. A lot of guys had pecs, but he looked like a professional athlete in his black V-neck sweater with the oxford underneath. Like he’d just showered and was ready for a post-game presser.

She got distracted for the briefest of seconds by his prominent Adam’s apple and a flashback from the hotel of her tongue on his neck.

“I think it’s a cavemannish, biological thing,” Hallie said, taking a sip of her coffee and righting her mind. “Your brain knows you copulated with a particular female, so now your ego ensures that you see said female as attractive.”

That made his dimples pop. “Is this what you tell yourself so you feel better about finding me wickedly attractive? That you only think I’m hot because we bonked?”

“First of all, I find you painfully unattractive. It hurts my eyes to look at you, if I’m being honest.”

“Ouch,” he said, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Yeah, suuuuper disgusting.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I’m not surprised. Second of all, it’s very unappealing for a man to say ‘bonk.’ Very ungentlemanlike. Let the ladies use their power words, and you stick to being charming.”

“I’ll do better. Shall we walk?”

Hallie nodded and they started their way down the street. She caught a whiff of cologne—or soap or something manly—and she was trying to identify the scent when he interrupted her thoughts.

“So. Have you practiced your lines?”

“What lines?”

“Your speed dating lines.” He nudged her arm with his elbow and said, “You’re going to get a lot of questions thrown at you fast, so you have to be ready.”

“Crap, I totally didn’t study. Let’s practice.”

He cleared his throat, changed his voice, and said, “So, Hallie. What do you do for fun?”

Hallie looked at his face and drew a blank. “I, um, I read a lot . . . ?”