The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            “Me?” She looked behind her.

            “Yes.” He stopped when he reached the bar and said, “I need you.”

            “I beg your pardon?” Hallie tilted her head and said, “And what happened to that sweetheart of a girlfriend of yours? Van, was it?”

            “We need a bartender in the back.” Jack ignored her remark, looking at Julio and saying, “Do you think you can spare her for a bit?”

            Julio glanced at Hallie, trying to gauge her reaction, before saying, “Yes, but I believe the bride scheduled—”

            “She’s the one who sent me over. I’m her brother.”

            “First of all, don’t talk to him about me like I’m not here. Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I’m incapable of speaking for myself. Second of all,” Hallie said, irritated by the hot guy’s obvious sexism, “I don’t strip or give lap dances, so if ‘the back’ is code for something creepy, count me out.”

            That made Jack smirk down at her, the kind of smirk that made him look both amused and irritated all at the same time. “First of all, I was told that Julio here is the banquet supervisor, so your breasts played no part whatsoever in my choice of conversation partner.”

            “Oh,” Hallie said.

            “And second of all,” he added, “you give off a strong no-creepy-lap-dance vibe, so I can assure you ‘the back’ is not code for anything untoward.”

            Hallie pushed back the stray hairs that’d fallen out of her ponytail, feeling a bit like an idiot. “Well, good.”

            “Follow me?”

            “Why not?” Hallie came around the bar and followed Jack as he walked through the throngs of wedding revelers—most of whom smiled at him like he was their favorite cousin, even though he appeared oblivious—and when they got to the kitchen door, he pushed it open and held it for her.

            “Thanks.” She walked through the door, only to see that the kitchen was absolutely deserted. “Um . . . ?”

            She turned around, and Jack had dropped his jacket on top of a box of bananas and was rolling up his shirtsleeves. He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to speak.

            “I thought you said you needed a bartender.”

            “I do.” He casually hopped up onto the stainless-steel prep counter and sat so that his long legs were dangling in front of him. “You got me dumped, so now it’s your job to get me drunk.”

            Seriously, dude?

            “Yeah, um, you aren’t the king,” Hallie said, “and I’m not interested in being your personal serving wench. But thank you.”

            “Dear God, I don’t want you to serve me.” He pointed to the spot beside him on the counter. “I just thought since we both had drinks thrown in our faces by Vanessa Robbins tonight, it might be nice to drown our troubles and share a bottle.”

            Hallie tilted her head and looked at the bottle of Crown Royal next to him.

            Why did that sound so damn appealing?





Jack


            He could see it in her face the minute she decided. It was like her entire posture relaxed.

            And then she smiled.

            Not that it mattered, but she was cute. A short little redhead with a big smartass mouth. He actually had remembered her from the jewelry store, not because of how she looked but because she’d been funny as hell as she’d shown him a slew of engagement rings.

            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.”