The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(48)

He rolled his eyes and tousled her hair. “Fuck right off with the coddling, Hal. I’m fine; I’m just trying to protect this.”

“Great.” Hallie smacked his hand, stepped away from him, and straightened her hair while feeling punched in the gut by the emotions behind his words. Protect this. Something in the way he said it made her feel . . . unsettled, but it was probably the fact that she didn’t like admitting how important his friendship had become to her.

“So do you want to go do Vail or what?” he asked, sounding like a total grump.

“Let’s do it,” she said. “Care if I change first?”

“Yeah, I will, too.”

She went into the bathroom and changed into a black turtleneck sweater, jeans, and hiking boots. She rolled her clothes up into a ball to hide her underwear, the same way she did when she had to visit the gynecologist.

God forbid people knew she wore underwear.

“Listen, Jack,” she started, pulling open the bathroom door, “maybe we . . .”

The words died on her lips when she saw him standing in front of his suitcase in just his jeans—jeans that were hanging low enough that the waistband of what appeared to be boxer briefs was visible.

Dear God.

He had that jutting-hip-bone thing that she had thought only existed on the covers of cowboy romance novels.

“Yes?” he asked.

She looked up from his stomach. “What?”

He smiled a little. “You said maybe we . . . and then you trailed off.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She gave a breathy laugh and said, “God, you caught me off guard. I forgot how, um, how that you are.”

And she gestured with her free hand toward his naked torso.

“?‘That’?” he repeated, with one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, that.” She rolled her eyes and said, “You know exactly what I mean, Jack Marshall.”

He repeated, grinning, “That.”

As she opened her suitcase beside his and dropped her clothes inside, she said in an octave lower than her usual voice, “My name is Jack. I’m so hot. I’m so that.”

He started laughing.

“Please put on a shirt before I kill you,” she said, grabbing her jacket from a hanger and sliding into it.

“Because my . . . that is bothering you?”

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes into her meanest squint. “Y’know what? Don’t wear a shirt. See if I care. Go hike naked. I’ll laugh my ass off when the bears eat your that.”

“I’m pretty sure I can outrun you,” he said, still laughing as he pulled his gray Henley over his head and threaded his arms through the sleeves. “So I’m confident my that will remain intact.”

“But,” she said, “as soon as you attempt to outrun me—”

“Piper.” He reached out a big hand and fisted the front of her jacket, his eyes still smiling as he playfully yanked her a little closer. “I don’t believe for a second that you’d let a bear eat me.”

“No?” she asked, her heart doing a little stutter in her chest as she was instantly aware of the distance between his mouth and hers.

“No.” His eyes dropped down to her lips, like he was thinking the same thing. For a beat they were both frozen in possibilities, neither moving nor speaking, but then Jack cleared his throat and said, “Because I’m the only one who gets your taco order right.”

“True.” Hallie nodded, and her lips slid into a smile of their own accord as she felt all warm inside. “No one else understands that it’s ridiculous to put the cheese on top.”

“I mean,” he said, his grin matching hers, “what is the point of cold, hard cheese?”





Chapter

NINETEEN





They spent the afternoon, just the two of them, walking all over Vail. She forced him to go down the hill with her to the nearest Starbucks before they visited the charming shops, and after that they snagged beer and slices outside an adorable pizzeria.

They’d intended to hike up into the mountains, but the village of Vail had been so picturesque, the afternoon so autumnally gorgeous, that they’d just strolled instead.

Hallie felt happy because, in spite of his concerns, fake dating Jack was her new favorite pastime. Alone in the mountains, they wouldn’t have to pretend. But in the picturesque little town, anyone attending the wedding could see them.

Which was why she held his hand while they walked around, hopped on his back when her legs got tired and he offered a piggyback, and why she kissed him.

It was absolutely necessary.

When they stopped in front of a store that looked like a tiny chalet and Hallie attempted a French accent, Jack gave her the mockery she deserved.

“That is atrocious, Piper,” he said, laughing at her, and she realized that his smiling face was only about an inch or two above hers. Just . . . right there.

So close.

He swallowed as their eyes held, as if noticing the same thing, and she said, “I think I see my uncle Bob coming.”

“You’re looking at me. How would you see that?” he asked, his eyes dipping down to her lips.

“It’s like an intuition thing,” she said in a near-whisper. “Just in case, we should probably kiss.”