The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            And . . . wait. He watched Hallie glance down at her phone, read the message, then put her phone back in her pocket without responding.

            She ignored his text.

            Seriously?

            For reasons he couldn’t explain, that bothered him. A lot. Where was his partner in crime? Was their alliance no longer a thing now that she’d landed a date she considered decent? He felt a little kicked to the side as she went about her date like she didn’t even know him.

            Kayla returned to the table, and Jack managed to have a nice dinner with her. She was sweet and smart and funny, and he couldn’t find a single thing wrong with her.

            So why was he in a hurry to finish the date?

            He could tell she wanted him to kiss her when he walked her to her car, but he wasn’t feeling it and didn’t want to be fake. He told her he’d call her, and he went home.

            Irritated as fuck and entirely unsettled by the blond creep.

            He waited a few hours, and at midnight finally gave in to his urges.

            Jack: Did you make it home okay?

            Hallie: Ohmigod Jack I wanted to text you but I was afraid you were railing the PhD candidate or at home sleeping!

            Jack: I’m doing both. What’s up?

            Hallie: So dinner was great, and then he walked me home. He was super chatty and there was zero awkwardness, and then HE KISSED ME.

            Jack: And . . . ?

            Hallie: AHHHMAZING!!! He did the little face hold thing and I was done for. Small amount of tongue but not too much. It was kiss perfection.

            Jack: That seems kind of forward, doesn’t it?

            Hallie: What? Kissing on the first date? Are you a puritan now?

            Jack: I just mean you don’t even really know the guy.

            Hallie: I do, too. He’s in real estate, plays slow-pitch softball, his favorite color is salmon, and he likes getting railed.

            His favorite color was fucking salmon?

            Jack: Sounds like a dipshit.

            Hallie: I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING.

            Jack didn’t know why, but her words made him feel guilty of something. He texted: What do you mean?

            Hallie: You want to win the bet, so you’re trying to sabotage the first good match I’ve had.

            Jack: What’s his name again?

            Hallie: Alex Anderson.

            Jack: I’m looking him up.

            Hallie: What? Don’t. Don’t do anything stupid.

            Jack: I’m not. Just googling Mr. AA.

            Hallie: Did you do any googling with Dr. Gorgeous?

            Jack: I left her at her car and walked home all alone because you ditched me.

            Hallie: We probably needed a break from Taco Hut anyway. I’ve gained a pound since we started our arrangement.

            Jack: You look great—don’t give up.

            Hallie: Hey. Do you want to go with me and Ruthie to find a cat tomorrow?

            Jack: First of all, what the fuck—a cat? Second, you still haven’t told her?

            Hallie: I’m calling you now.

            His phone rang, and he raised it to his ear as he leaned back against the headboard and watched SportsCenter. “Hey, Piper.”

            “So Ruthie showed up at my office today, wondering where my stuff had gone.”

            “Oh, snap.”

            “Right?”

            Jack listened as she launched into a rambling story about her weird roommate and pet adoption. Something about the way Hallie told the story reminded him of the way she’d been in the kitchen of the hotel the night of the wedding.