The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(4)

She came over and hopped up on the counter, crisscrossing her legs and reaching for the bottle. “First of all, please tell me you dumped her and not the other way around.”

“Obviously,” he said.

“Thank God.” She rolled in her lips and said, “Second of all, I had nothing to do with the implosion of your relationship.”

“Well, if you hadn’t said anything . . .”

“Then you’d be engaged to a jealous psycho.” She narrowed her green eyes and said, “I think you actually owe me a ginormous thank-you.”

“Is that right?”

“For sure,” she said, and then she raised the bottle to her mouth and took a big drink. After she finished, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Are you intentionally forgoing mixers? Because I’m okay with that, but since I’m only five feet tall, I’m going to get there a lot quicker without Coke.”

He actually felt like smiling when he said, “Fine by me.”

“And are you paying for the Uber that I will surely need when we’re finished?”

Jack took the bottle as she held it out to him and noticed his fingers looked gigantic next to hers. He said, “If it comes to that, then yes.”

“Oh, it will definitely come to that.” She gave him another sarcastic grin and turned her body so she was facing him. “I plan on getting floor-licking drunk tonight, buddy. Like, can’t-remember-your-own-mother, vomiting-in-the-elevator-phone-box, is-she-okay-or-should-we-call-someone hammered. Care to join me on the thrill ride?”

Jack tipped the bottle into his mouth and let the liquor burn through him, warming a path all the way down to his belly. She watched him the whole time, and he wasn’t sure if it was the buzz or not, but he was suddenly all-in on getting drunk with the funny bartender. He wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back to her.

“So . . . ,” she asked, wrapping her slim fingers around the bottle, “you in, Best Man?”

Jack couldn’t help but smile as he said, “I’m all yours, Tiny Bartender.”





Chapter

TWO


    Hallie


Hallie opened her eyes and groaned.

Dear God.

Her temples pounded as she reached up and tugged on the blanket that was covering her head. She welcomed the cool air on her face once she was out from under the heavy duvet, but then she saw her own terrifying reflection in the mirror directly in front of her.

Mirror?

Wait. What?

It was then that she realized not only was she lying sideways across the bed, but she was at the foot of the bed. And that it was not “the” bed, as in a bed familiar to her, but “a” bed, as in one she didn’t know.

Oh, Gawd.

No, no, no, no.

Scenes from the night before came flying at her, and she tried her best not to move the mattress as she sat up and peered over her shoulder. There was a sea of white bedding between them, sheets and comforters that were twisted and resting in haphazard piles, but yes—there was definitely a body sleeping at the top of the bed.

His head, which appeared to be facedown on the pillow, was covered in thick, dark hair that she knew firsthand felt surprisingly soft when you grabbed it by the handful. Visions of the two of them up against the door of the hotel room flashed through her mind, her hands buried in his hair while he—

GAH.

Nope.

She had to get out of there. She saw her pants and one of her shoes next to the door. Her other shoe lay in the bathroom doorway as if kicked off . . . oh, yeah, she remembered kicking it off and sliding out of her pants before the door was even closed behind them.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

She moved gingerly, because the last thing she wanted was to wake the guy. Really, how awkward would that be? Hi, remember me? I’m the bartender who ripped all the buttons off your tuxedo shirt. No, Hallie needed to stealthily get dressed and get the hell out.

She rolled off the end of the bed, landing on her hands and knees. She forced herself not to think of how dirty the hotel carpet was—bodily fluids everywhere and the black light thing arrrgghhhh—and she popped her head up to make sure he was still sleeping.

Yep. Still asleep, or possibly dead, so that was good.

She dropped back down and crawled toward her pants. She imagined she made quite a picture, high-speed crawling in a tank top and a pair of pink underwear that had tiny squirrels plastered all over them. She was pretty sure this was a low point, but she didn’t have time to slow down and find decorum.

When she reached her pants, she jumped into them as fast as she could, pulling them up as quietly as possible while staring at the bed. Please keep sleeping. She jammed her feet into her flats as she looked around the room for her bra.

Where in the hell was that underwired nightmare?

She checked the bathroom, then leaned down and checked under the bed, but that thing was nowhere to be found. She tiptoed closer to the bed. It was probably tangled in the bedding, but at that moment Jack made a noise and flipped over onto his back, which made her drop down to her knees again.

Why, you dipshit? screamed her brain in a very high-pitched and hysterical voice. What is the point of that? You’re not invisible if you’re crawling, you tool.

Hallie got back to her feet and realized that any other time, she’d be stopping to gaze upon the man’s body. His broad chest, tight stomach, and ropy biceps were downright lovely, and she kind of maybe thought she might’ve bitten his forearm last night, but she was too focused on escape to enjoy the view.