The Love Wager (Mr. Wrong Number, #2)(9)

Jack: Hey there, Hallie. I had a lot of fun with you after the wedding, and you seem like a cool person.

Oh, dear God, he thought she was serious. She typed:

God, Jack, relax. I’m just messing with you. I DO NOT WANT TO DATE YOU.

Jack: Uh wow ok.

Hallie: I saw your profile when I was shopping for soul mates and thought it would be fun to give you a heart attack. I never gave you my number and I didn’t expect you to call.

Conversation bubbles popped up and went away. Popped up and went away. Finally he messaged: So . . . you’re on here legitimately looking for love?

Hallie: Pathetic, right? But don’t worry, you’re not on my list.

Jack: First of all, I’m doing the same thing, so I’m going to go with no, that’s not pathetic. Second of all, I can’t believe I’m not on your list after our amazing night together.

Hallie groaned and looked up from the phone; she couldn’t believe he brought it up. But she also couldn’t hold in the smile as she typed: We were just so hammered—it’s all kind of a blur.

Jack: But . . . ?

She let out a little squeaking sound and kicked her feet against the mattress, unable to believe they were having this conversation.

Hallie: But what? All in all, it was a fine time.

The reality was that the night had been red-hot and so good, but she’d also been crazy drunk, so that meant nothing. Kermit the Frog might’ve been able to scratch her itch if enough whiskey had been involved.

Jack: Fine?? Come ON, Hal.

For some reason, his usage of her shortened name did something to her stomach as she messaged: Not talking about this. I remember nothing.

That was a bald-faced lie. She remembered absolutely every minute of that night, from the very first kiss in the kitchen, to her hand on the elevator stop button, right down to the feel of his callused palms as they gripped her hips in that king-sized hotel bed.

Jack: You don’t want to hear about the adorable noise you make when you . . .

Hallie: PLEASE GOD NO

Jack: I was going to say sneeze. But I do have your bra if you ever want it back.

Hallie: Where was it??

Jack: Underneath me. It was there the whole time you were belly-crawling around the bed.

Hallie did scream then, but quietly enough so Ruthie didn’t come running in with one of her fencing foils.

Hallie: You were fake sleeping?!

Jack: It was obvious you wanted the quick exit, so who was I to get in the way?

She was laughing when she responded with: Well, um, thank you, I guess . . . ?

Jack: You’re welcome, it would seem . . . ?

Hallie readjusted her pillows and got comfortable. So tell me something, Jack Marshall. What is it you’re looking for on this app? TRUTH ONLY.

She wasn’t actually expecting the truth, so his answer shocked the hell out of her.

Jack: Okay, truth only. The truth is that I have a lot of friends and a good job, and I date often enough, but I want someone important in my life. {insert your laughing at this desperate guy here}

Hallie would’ve been touched by the sentiment if it weren’t for the fact that he’d had someone important in his life last week. Talk about a desperate need to be in a relationship. Still . . .

Hallie: Truth only: I’m looking for pretty much the same thing. She didn’t want him to misunderstand, so she added: Only not with you, so don’t get all squirmy again.

Jack: Rest assured, I will not squirm.

Hallie: Well, good luck on finding your perfect woman.

Jack: Good luck to you, as well. Your bra is hanging from my rearview mirror if you change your mind and want it back.

Hallie: Sicko.

Jack: Or I could keep it as a trophy.

Hallie: Y’know, you seem to be a little obsessed with that night.

Jack: I’m a little obsessed with that elevator.

Hallie’s stomach dropped and she managed to type Good night and good luck, Sicko before exiting the app and turning off her light. She needed sleep, and a lot of it.





Jack


Jack stared at the phone, wearing a stupid smile.

He shut down his computer—enough work for one night—and went into the kitchen. There were still boxes scattered here and there, but the new place was actually starting to look good. He opened the fridge and grabbed the milk, his mind still on Hallie as he poured a glass.

Yes, she was hot, and he still couldn’t stop himself from replaying moments of that night over and over again in his head, but it also seemed like she was genuinely fun.

It’d been too long since he’d had actual fun.

He wasn’t interested in dating someone he’d had a one-night stand with, and she’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested in him, but in a weird way, he was glad she’d decided to mess with him on the app.

She’d reminded him that fun was a thing.

He put the milk back in the fridge and shut the door, only to see Mr. Meowgi staring up at him with those annoyingly adorable kitten eyes. It was day three of Jack being a cat owner, and the jury was still out on whether he’d made a terrible mistake.

“This is for me, buddy,” he said, picking up the cup. “Not you.”

It—he—meowed, and that tiny little squeak made the cat seem even smaller and more helpless than he actually was. Jack rolled his eyes, shook his head, and set the glass of milk on the floor.