The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            Jack: Of course. Choose your weapon.

            Hallie: Cake knife.

            Jack: Excellent choice.

            Hallie: And now, for the murder . . .

            Jack: This obviously has nothing to do with you, but I would really love to wring the neck of Ben Marks.

            Hallie looked up from her phone and craned her neck to find Jack. She couldn’t, but she was a little taken aback that he even knew Ben’s last name.

            Hallie: It was the scarf, wasn’t it?

            Jack: Certainly didn’t help. But every time I look at him, I want to hurt him for making you feel like you weren’t enough.

            Hallie wasn’t laughing anymore. She texted: Did I tell you that?

            Jack: Chuck did, but he was drunk and it was a slip. Please don’t get mad at him. But here’s the thing, Hal. It’s fine if it wasn’t meant to be for you and Ben, but you have to know that you are more than enough. You’re perfect, and if he was too fucking stupid to see that, it’s on him.

            Hallie could no longer read the text in front of her as tears blurred her eyes. She blinked fast to clear her vision before texting: You’re not allowed to be this nice. You’re screwing up my makeup.

            Jack: So how should we kill him?

            Hallie shook her head, and at that moment the crowds cleared just enough for her to see Jack’s face as he smiled at her. She texted: I think death by poison is a very humane way to put Scarf out of his misery.

            The toasts finally ended, and Hallie and Chuck bailed on the wedding party and went to sit by Jamie and Jack. As they approached the table, Hallie took a minute to admire Jack while he wasn’t looking.

            His suit and tie were black, and something about the whole look was ridiculously sexy. He looked like a cologne ad. He looked like the guy who’d be on the cover of a romance novel about billionaires. He was dashing and gorgeous, and her heart stuttered a little when he looked up at her from his chair.

            “So,” he said, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “Those hiccups.”

            “Why didn’t you scare me or something?” She grabbed the chair next to him and scooted it closer, pushing back the warmth she felt for him over what he’d said about Ben. “I thought you were my friend.”

            “What exactly should I have done—shouted?”

            “Sure.” She grabbed his hand in both of hers and started playing with his fingers while she leaned in close. “Anything would’ve helped.”

            A tiny wrinkle formed in between his eyebrows as he looked down at their hands.

            She said, “I don’t want to sound like a creep, but you look incredibly hot.”

            He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me, TB?”

            “Little bit. By the way, Chuck and I decided that we’re not going to dance together for the bridal party dance—he’s going to dance with Jamie and I’m dancing with you.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Do I have to?”

            “Oh, my God, you don’t know how to dance, do you?”

            He smirked and said, “Actually, my nana made me take ballroom dancing.”

            “Shut up.”

            “Seriously.” He picked up his glass and said, “For three years.”

            “So you can, like, waltz?”

            He raised his drink to his mouth. “So hard.”

            “You can waltz the crap out of me?” she asked, laughing.

            “And then you’ll beg me for more, honey.”

            As it turned out, he wasn’t lying.

            When the DJ finally called for the wedding party to hit the dance floor, Jack led her around like he was Fitzwilliam Darcy at a Netherfield soiree.