The Love Wager

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.”

He said in a deep, quiet voice, “Hallie Piper, do you even have an uncle Bob?”

“I just want to so badly,” she breathed, unsure if she was talking about kissing or having an uncle Bob.

“Well, if you want to,” he said, reaching out with a finger to trace the arch of her eyebrow, his eyes all over her face, “maybe you should.”

The words were nothing, but his tone was challenging. Daring.

So she tugged on the collar of his coat, pulling him down a little closer as she went up on her tiptoes. Instead of going for his mouth, though, she kissed the side of his neck, breathing in his scent while scraping his throat with her teeth. She could feel his intake of breath, and she reveled in the tiny groan as her lips and tongue tasted his warm skin.

Images shot through her head as she imagined what it would be like to do that when they weren’t on a public street in a charming mountain vill—

“Hal. You need to stop. That. Shit.” Jack grabbed her upper arms and set her a step away from him, his voice a little gravelly. He ran a hand down his face, breathed in through his nose, and said, while not looking at her, “Come on. I need to walk.”

She felt like a sex goddess as they started walking, like she’d rendered him weak with her seductive necking skills. She hadn’t realized she’d been smiling, though, until he nudged her arm and said, “Quit that.”

It was barely an hour later when they kissed again, but this time it was all Jack. They were in the outerwear store, and Jack went back to the men’s section while Hallie shopped in the women’s.

The store employee was totally a ski bro: young, adorable, athletic, and into skiing. He chatted her up about the slopes, and then he put a cute hat on her head.

“You need to get the pink Patagonia. Totally makes your gorgeous greens pop.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at the dude. “Stupid sentences like that aren’t going to get you the Patagonia commission. Not from me, at least.”

He smiled and adjusted the hat, pulling it down onto her forehead. “It’s not nice to call my heartfelt compliment stupid.”

She laughed and said, “I’m not buying the hat.”

Suddenly, Jack was right beside her. She felt his presence before she saw him, and she smiled up at him as he reached out a hand and tugged on one of the hat’s dangling strings.

“I like it,” he said, looking at her in a way that seemed obscene in public. His eyes didn’t waver from hers, and the heat in them nearly scorched her irises. She didn’t even know how to respond. He turned his attention to the sales guy and said, “We’ll take it.”

They moved to the cash register, and as soon as Jack paid for the hat, he maneuvered her through the small store and into a changing room. “I think I see a relative.”

“You need a number for the changing room,” the sales guy shouted.

Before she could say a word, the door closed and Jack’s mouth was on hers, feeding her wild kisses that made her pulse beat hard as his hands rested on the wall on either side of her face. The mirror was at her back as he pressed against her—every hard bit of him—and she kissed back with as much hunger as she felt from him.

He cursed against her lips and raised his head. He gave her a dirty grin and said, “I think they’re gone.”

“You sure?” She raised her thumb and dragged it over his lower lip. Had it always been this full? “I mean, they could still be lurking.”

His eyes were heavy-lidded as he lightly bit down on her finger—wow, how did that feel hot—and then took a step back from her. He dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m afraid your boyfriend out there’s gonna call the cops on us, and your sister will kill us if we get arrested.”

“Oh, yeah.” She kept forgetting about the wedding. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “5:05.”

“We should probably head back so we can shower and get ready for the rehearsal.”

“After one more coffee stout at the brewery . . . ?”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and said, “You better chug, though, because it takes a long time to make this girl look presentable.”

“Just wear the hat and call it good. The guy is right—makes your gorgeous greens pop.”

“On that note,” she said as they left the fitting room and walked toward the exit, “can you please not interrupt next time I’m being complimented by a bro? I might’ve gotten lucky if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He messed up her hair and put his arm around her neck. “Sorry, my bad.”

After they got back, Jack decided to go work out. That way, he said, she could have the room to herself for an hour to get ready before he needed to shower.

“You sure?” She crossed her arms and watched as he grabbed running shoes, shorts, and a T-shirt. “I was kidding—I can get ready pretty fast.”

“I’m dying to get in a quick mountain run,” he said, walking toward the bathroom. “And I need to lift. I can get ready for dinner in fifteen minutes, so the timing will be perfect.”

After he left, Hallie took a long, luxurious shower. She was having the time of her life playing boyfriend/girlfriend with Jack, and she wished the weekend would never end.

Part of her felt like she should slow down and examine the “why” of her enjoyment, but she quickly pushed that thought out of her mind.

Hallie did her hair and then applied some eye shadow for a smoky eye look while half watching a Top Chef marathon. When she was finished, she steamed a few wrinkles out of her dress and put it on.

Her sister, the attention whore, was having all the bridesmaids wear white to the rehearsal, while she wore a scarlet gown, and then the colors would be flipped for the wedding. She’d been obsessed with the idea since Taylor’s version of Red came out, and she’d found a man who was all-in on her theatrical side. It would be amazing for the photos, but since it was her sister, Hallie just considered it annoying and melodramatic.

She did love her dress, though.

It was long and white, a flowy fabric that hugged her body but wasn’t stuck to it. One shoulder had a white ruffle that cut diagonally to her waist, while the other shoulder was bare. Hallie thought it looked like something she’d wear to one of Diddy’s white parties if she were famous enough to be invited, if he still did those . . . and, now that she was thinking about it, if he was even still called that.

She was putting on her pearl earrings when she heard Jack at the door. She was ready for him to make fun of her for looking positively bridal, but when she opened the door and said “Marry me” in her best Maeby Fünke voice, he didn’t crack a smile.

His eyes moved all over her, from her hair to her face and down the length of her dress, before he just said, “Wow.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s making all the bridesmaids wear white tonight. It’s so over-the-top, but she’s the bride.”

She turned away from him and went to grab her beaded handbag from the nightstand. “I’m going to go down to Chuck’s so you can have some privacy—”

“No.”

“Huh?” She looked at him over her shoulder, and as he cleared his throat, her eyes dropped down to his neck, his sweat-dampened shirt, and then his legs.

Oh, God, those legs. He had thick, chiseled calves.

She was such a sucker for a good calf.

He had very bitable calves, if that was a thing.

He said, “Just stay. I need ten minutes tops in the bathroom and I’m ready.”

“You sure?” She straightened and turned around, but she was having trouble with words. Out of nowhere, she was zapped with the awareness that he was going to be showering, naked, just through that door in mere minutes, getting all wet and soapy and—oh, my.

“Yep.”

“Okay. Cool.” She walked over to the mirror that hung between the hotel fridge and the desk and leaned a little closer to check her lipstick.

“Don’t move.” Jack walked over and stepped behind her, and they looked at each other in the mirror. “You’re only halfway zipped.”

“Oh.” Hallie sucked in a breath when she felt his fingers on her zipper, his other hand on her lower back, and the heat of his body behind her. Through the mirror, she watched his eyes on her back as he slowly slid up the zipper. She saw the clench of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils, and how his left hand lingered after the zipper reached the top, resting on her lower back. After a moment, he stepped back, cleared his throat, and said, “Okay—how long do I have?”

She blinked, confused for a second, before looking around him in the mirror at the clock. “Uh, fifteen minutes,” she said.

He nodded and walked toward the garment bag that was hanging next to the bathroom. “Easy peasy,” he said, before going in the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.

Jack

He was pretty sure the weekend was going to kill him.

He turned on the shower, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the image of Hallie in that white dress out of his head. Her wavy hair, red lipstick, pearl earrings—she looked like a fucking bride.

What was that expression—a man plans and God laughs?

Yeah, someone was cackling at that moment at his idiotic fake relationship plan.

He toed off his running shoes and pulled his shirt over his head before he grabbed his phone and texted Hallie.

Jack: I should’ve said this before, but you look incredible.

He knew she was wrinkling her brow as she read the message.

Hallie: Why are you texting me from the bathroom?

Jack: Because I don’t want this sentiment to get caught up in our games. Your buddy Jack—not fake boyfriend—is telling you in a purely subjective statement that you look absolutely stunning.

Hallie: Well if I’m being honest with my real-life bestie, not my fake bf, I’m having the best time vacationing with you and I don’t want it to end.

Jack: Same.

He put down the phone, shed his remaining clothes, and got in the shower.

He wished he had any fucking clue what Hallie was thinking. What she was feeling.

Because it appeared to him that she was enjoying their little game just as much as he was. But she seemed casual as hell about it—blasé, even, which made him think she was still his wingwoman and just “leaning in” to the weekend of pretend, whatever she even meant by that.

And if that was the case, he couldn’t bare his soul to her and risk losing her as a friend.

He quickly shaved, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair before getting dressed, and when he walked out of the bathroom and looked at her in that dress again, leaning back on the bed and looking at her phone, his necktie felt like it was strangling him.

His phone buzzed as he slid his feet into his dress shoes, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

Hallie: Don’t let this go to your head, but you look handsome AF. Like, I want to call you beautiful, but I feel like you’ll be insulted.

Jack tried to swallow, but his throat was fucked up all of a sudden.

He texted back: Are you ready to go, TB?

He kept his eyes on his phone but heard her giggle as she texted: I am. But I feel like I should warn you—your girlfriend gets a little handsy when she drinks wine.

He couldn’t not grin, and he responded with: Then I feel like I should warn YOU—when my girlfriend gets handsy, I usually find the nearest broom closet or elevator and make her scream.

He did look at her then, half smiling because he knew he’d shut her up, and he instantly regretted it. Because first, her mouth dropped open and her cheeks got red; the response he’d been shooting for. But then—holy balls—she puckered her crimson lips, tilted her head, looked him straight in the face, and raised an interested eyebrow.

Fuck my life, he thought, as he pulled open the door and held it for her.