The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            Was it weird that she found this side of him adorable? Teasing, hilarious Jack was being uncharacteristically uptight and genuinely worried about jeopardizing their friendship.

            He was sweet under all that Jack.

            She really didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, though, so she asked him, “Are we good?”

            He rolled his eyes and tousled her hair. “Fuck right off with the coddling, Hal. I’m fine; I’m just trying to protect this.”

            “Great.” Hallie smacked his hand, stepped away from him, and straightened her hair while feeling punched in the gut by the emotions behind his words. Protect this. Something in the way he said it made her feel . . . unsettled, but it was probably the fact that she didn’t like admitting how important his friendship had become to her.

            “So do you want to go do Vail or what?” he asked, sounding like a total grump.

            “Let’s do it,” she said. “Care if I change first?”

            “Yeah, I will, too.”

            She went into the bathroom and changed into a black turtleneck sweater, jeans, and hiking boots. She rolled her clothes up into a ball to hide her underwear, the same way she did when she had to visit the gynecologist.

            God forbid people knew she wore underwear.

            “Listen, Jack,” she started, pulling open the bathroom door, “maybe we . . .”

            The words died on her lips when she saw him standing in front of his suitcase in just his jeans—jeans that were hanging low enough that the waistband of what appeared to be boxer briefs was visible.

            Dear God.

            He had that jutting-hip-bone thing that she had thought only existed on the covers of cowboy romance novels.

            “Yes?” he asked.

            She looked up from his stomach. “What?”

            He smiled a little. “You said maybe we . . . and then you trailed off.”

            “Oh. Yeah.” She gave a breathy laugh and said, “God, you caught me off guard. I forgot how, um, how that you are.”

            And she gestured with her free hand toward his naked torso.

            “ ‘That’?” he repeated, with one eyebrow raised.

            “Yes, that.” She rolled her eyes and said, “You know exactly what I mean, Jack Marshall.”

            He repeated, grinning, “That.”

            As she opened her suitcase beside his and dropped her clothes inside, she said in an octave lower than her usual voice, “My name is Jack. I’m so hot. I’m so that.”

            He started laughing.

            “Please put on a shirt before I kill you,” she said, grabbing her jacket from a hanger and sliding into it.

            “Because my . . . that is bothering you?”

            She shook her head and narrowed her eyes into her meanest squint. “Y’know what? Don’t wear a shirt. See if I care. Go hike naked. I’ll laugh my ass off when the bears eat your that.”

            “I’m pretty sure I can outrun you,” he said, still laughing as he pulled his gray Henley over his head and threaded his arms through the sleeves. “So I’m confident my that will remain intact.”

            “But,” she said, “as soon as you attempt to outrun me—”

            “Piper.” He reached out a big hand and fisted the front of her jacket, his eyes still smiling as he playfully yanked her a little closer. “I don’t believe for a second that you’d let a bear eat me.”

            “No?” she asked, her heart doing a little stutter in her chest as she was instantly aware of the distance between his mouth and hers.

            “No.” His eyes dropped down to her lips, like he was thinking the same thing. For a beat they were both frozen in possibilities, neither moving nor speaking, but then Jack cleared his throat and said, “Because I’m the only one who gets your taco order right.”