The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(5)

She squinted and tried to see her bra amongst the sheets, but Jack seemed to be breathing a little louder, so she couldn’t risk it. She said, “Fuck it,” and gave up, grabbed her purse, and left, letting out her breath when the door finally shut softly behind her. She could feel her bralessness as she jogged down the corridor, and she crossed her arms when she had to stop and wait for the elevator. There were girls who looked good doing the whole braless-in-a-tank-top vibe—Kate Hudson, perhaps—but Hallie was not one of them.

She looked obscene.

A housekeeper walked by with her cart, and Hallie wished she hadn’t seen her reflection in that hotel room mirror, because she knew just how awful she looked. As she waited for the elevator, she wondered if Jack would be mad that she left without saying goodbye. Like, what was the etiquette in that situation? She’d never been a one-nighter kind of girl, so she didn’t know what sort of niceties were usually exchanged before parting. Maybe I’ll creep on social media and DM him. “Thanks for the brilliant bonk, bro—”

But before she could even finish that thought, it hit her.

She didn’t know his last name.

The elevator doors opened, and she was in the grips of a tiny freak-out as she went into the shiny car and hit the lobby button.

Holy shit, I don’t know his last name!

It wouldn’t be hard to figure out Jack’s full name if she wanted to. His sister had been the bride, and he’d bought a ring at Borsheim’s the day before. It’d be easy for Hallie to find out his last name, but that wasn’t the point.

She took a deep breath as the elevator reached the ground floor with a ding.

The point, she thought as she took the walk of shame through the lobby with bed head and unsupported bouncy bits, was that she had just woken up in the hotel room of a guy whose full name she didn’t know. Her undergarment was missing, her head was throbbing, and she had to walk by a front desk that was staffed with employees who all knew she’d worked the wedding the night before.

Hot mess shit show, indeed.

And when Robert, the sweet, grandfatherly bellman who usually showed her pics of his kids when she worked a wedding, gave her a friendly wave before dropping his eyes down to her chest and quickly looking away in extreme awkwardness, she realized that she’d definitely hit rock bottom.





Jack


Jack entered the hotel restaurant, his head throbbing as he walked toward the big table where his entire family was having post-wedding brunch. He was thirty minutes late, and there was approximately zero chance his mother wouldn’t notice.

“Jackie boy,” his uncle said, smiling and holding up a bagel in greeting.

“Morning, Uncle Gary,” Jack said, trying to smile but finding it incredibly difficult. Did it have to be so goddamn bright in there?

“You’re so fucking late,” his older brother, Will, said, half smiling as he chewed what looked to be eggs. “Ever heard of an alarm?”

Jack ignored him and pulled out the empty chair next to Colin, his best friend and brand-new brother-in-law. He lowered himself into the seat and said, his throat dry as hell, “Where’s Livvie?”

Colin’s eyes narrowed. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“She’s at the buffet getting more pancakes,” Colin said, gesturing with his head in the direction of the long line of tables.

Jack looked at the buffet, and sure enough, his sister was filling her plate. “Dear God, if they have pancakes, you’re missing your flight for sure.”

Olivia and Colin were leaving for a two-week Italian honeymoon once brunch was over.

“She’s bottomless, right?” Colin said, smiling, and Jack was too hungover—and suddenly too single—to sit there and listen to Colin get gooey about his sister. He was glad they were happy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to soak that shit up when he had a throbbing temple and an apartment to move out of.

“Hotcake junkie for sure.” Jack got up and went to the buffet, careful to keep his head down to avoid conversations with cousins and aunties. There were far too many family members milling about the restaurant for his comfort, so he grabbed a plate and headed straight for Olivia.

“I cannot believe,” she said, somehow knowing it was him without turning her head, “that you’re this late and Mom hasn’t said a word yet. If I’d been thirty seconds late, every relative would’ve heard about it.”

“True.” It was a well-known fact that Jack was the favorite child of Nancy Marshall.

“You smell like whiskey,” she said, narrowing her eyes and finally looking at him. “Wow—and you look like you slept in a dumpster. What the hell happened to you?”

Jack raised a hand to his hair; did he look that bad? “Nothing.”

“Seriously, though,” she said, tilting her head a little. “What did happen to you? After Vanessa lost her shit, you kind of disappeared. Where’d you go?”

He wouldn’t have told anyone else, but he’d always been able to be completely honest with Livvie when he screwed up. “Got hammered and had a sleepover with the bartender.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You did not.”

He shrugged.

She looked at him like he’d just declared himself a cheeseburger, and then she took his plate and set it beside hers on the buffet table before grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the back of the restaurant.