The Love Wager

Hallie

Hallie closed her apartment door and hit the dead bolt. As she kicked off her shoes and dropped her jacket on the floor, she realized she was still smiling. Alex had left her at the door five minutes before, yet the smile was still on her face.

She didn’t see Tigger—he’d been with her for a week now, and every time she came home he was asleep on her pillow—but that was easy to fix. She walked over to the kitchen, opened the utensil drawer, and took out the can opener. From the bedroom she heard the telltale mrrreow before heavy paws landed on the wood floor and he hightailed it in her direction.

Yes, Tigger’s superpower was that he could literally hear the clicking sound of the can opener from anywhere on the planet.

“Hello, Tiggy,” she said as she crouched down and petted his fuzzy orange head. She still couldn’t believe she had a cat, but she was grateful to Ruthie for the whole weird moving-out debacle, because she was head over heels obsessed with Tigger. “Let’s get you some tuna.”

She opened the can and poured the contents into a saucer. Her phone buzzed in her pocket as she turned to toss the container. She expected it to be Alex, but it was Jack—who’d been weirdly quiet over the past few days. But perhaps he was as smitten with his PhD girl as she was with Alex and didn’t have time to text.

Jack: How was dinner?

She took the phone into the bedroom and plopped down on her bed. OK, so listen to this. I told you Alex made reservations at the Aquarium, right?

Jack: Yep—so fancy.

Hallie: Well, we got there, and there was no reservation and no tables. Alex’s face got all red and he looked pissed.

Jack: Did Jekyll become Hyde over expensive fish?

Hallie: No, Jekyll became fucking Romeo.

Jack: He poisoned you?

Hallie: He went outside and made a phone call, and then asked if I minded going on a walk for a bit.

Jack: So he called his mom to talk him off the rage ledge.

Hallie: Shut up and wait for it. We took a walk, and then after like thirty minutes he led me to an igloo in the park. We went inside and there was heat, twinkling lights, and a picnic blanket on the ground with to-go burgers and fries.

Jack: Shut the fuck up.

Hallie laughed and still couldn’t believe it. Right?!

Her phone started ringing as she looked at it, and the second she raised it to her ear she heard Jack say, “Are you telling me that when your reservation fell through, the blond clown arranged a burger picnic in the park?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you!” Hallie flopped back on her bed and closed her eyes. “Can you believe how charming that is?”

He made a noise that sounded like a snort. “It sounds to me like the guy knew he couldn’t get a table and made up the whole reservation story just so he could look charming.”

Hallie opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “That is ridiculous.”

“And you’re home at ten, TB, so obviously there isn’t a lot of sexual chemistry there.”

“I know you want that stupid World Series ball, but don’t ruin this for me.” Things with Alex were amazing and perfect so far and were exactly what she’d been looking for. But Jack was a tiny bit right on that front. On paper, Alex was perfect. But she’d yet to feel any sort of burn for him.

She liked it when he kissed her—he didn’t cram his tongue down her throat or lick her face off—but it definitely didn’t have the these-clothes-must-come-off vibe she’d had with Jack during that drunken elevator ride.

But that would come.

And probably wasn’t all that important to the overall relationship, anyway.

“Sorry, sorry.” She heard him clear his throat before he said, “How’s Tig?”

Hallie rolled over onto her side and grinned. “Everything I could ever want in a bestie.”

His chuckle was deep and raspy, like he was tired. “I should bring him some catnip. I can’t give it to Meowgi anymore because he gets too hyper.”

She loved the way he sounded annoyed and in love all at the same time whenever he talked about his kitten.

“You should. He misses you.” Hallie kind of felt like she did, too, because they hadn’t hung out in a while. “He wants to show you his new place.”

When she’d gone back to the shelter with Alex to officially adopt Tigger that day, she’d been shocked to see Jack after she’d told him he didn’t have to come. He said that he was on his way home and just thought he’d swing by to see if she needed any help, and then he’d been surprisingly friendly to Alex as the three of them got her fluffy boy into his carrier.

It had been unexpectedly sweet, and she honestly hadn’t known what to make of it.

He said, “I’ll be in Minneapolis for the next two weeks on business, but I’m having dinner with Kayla the Friday I get back. Maybe I’ll swing by afterward.”

“Sounds good.” She looked over at the window and at the darkened city beyond it. “How are things going with Miss PhD, by the way?”

“Good.” He cleared his throat and said, “We’re both so busy with work that we haven’t talked a lot, but good.”

“Dinner is promising, though, right?” she asked, wishing he’d share a little more about Kayla. He said things like She seems great, but he never really went into any detail.

“Yeah, it’ll be great,” he said. “I imagine I’ll be over at your place around ten, if that works.”

It’ll be great. What did that mean? She said, “We can DoorDash ice cream and watch a movie.”

“It’s a date,” he said.

Hallie turned her eyes back to the ceiling. It’s a date. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was being honest, what it would be like to actually date Jack. She didn’t want to—she loved their friendship—but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t think of their hot hotel sex and their Pride & Prejudice moment in her living room from time to time.

They ended the call not long after that, and then Alex called her.

She liked talking to him, really, but she couldn’t help but notice their conversations lacked the fun that always accompanied a call with Jack. It was probably an unfair comparison, though, because no one had the easy banter she and Jack had. They were friends, which was what made it so comfortable and natural, and she and Alex were still becoming something.

It had nothing to do with Jack, and everything to do with their newness.

Easy explanation.

Jack

Jack was waiting for the hotel elevator when his phone buzzed. It was Hallie.

Hallie: Help! Going to dinner and can’t choose.

The picture that followed was of two pairs of shoes— high-heeled black boots and a pair of black pumps.

The elevator doors opened, and Jack stepped inside before texting her back.

Jack: Depends on the outfit.

Hallie: Okay, one sec.

As he rode the elevator down to the lobby, he had a hard time not smiling, picturing Hal hopping on one foot as she tried putting on her shoes quickly.

She texted: Option #1.

It was a picture of the whole outfit, and he did smile then. Hallie looked gorgeous in a black dress, tall boots, and red lipstick, but her tongue was out and her eyes were crossed.

The doors opened and Jack started walking toward the lobby.

Jack: Boots are sexy, that face is not.

Hallie: How about this sexiness?

She included a close-up of her ridiculous face.

Jack: Hot. #2 please.

Jack exited out into the chilly fall evening and started in the direction of his favorite bar. He’d always loved downtown Minneapolis, and for some reason, it smelled and felt even better while he was texting Hallie.

He didn’t know how it’d happened, but she’d completely taken over his brain.

Every morning when he went for a run, she was what he was thinking about.

And he spent way too much time every day trying to figure out what the hell to do about it. Because the bottom line was that even though he had feelings for her beyond friendship, it might not be worth it to do anything about it if that meant risking everything else they had.

Which explained why he was helping her get dressed for a date instead of asking her to go on one with him.

He was halfway to the pub before she texted back: Here’s #2.

It was a photo of Hallie wearing heels, the outfit both elegant and smoking hot. Her eyes were half-closed, in an exaggerated sexy face and ridiculous pout.

Jack: #1 is my fave but #2 is classy if you’re going for that. And also don’t make that face.

Hallie: I will go with 1 because it’s just dinner. And I thought I looked sexy AF.

Jack gritted his teeth as he remembered what this was for. Duh.

Jack: Going out with Alex?

Hallie: I really think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.

He dialed her number, and she was laughing when she answered. “You would, Jack.”

God, it was pathetic, the way the sound of her voice shot through him like a buzz. “Doubtful. Where are you going?”

She said the name of a restaurant he’d never heard of, and he said, “No matter how good the food is, don’t put out. The third-date rule is bullshit and you shouldn’t cave to that pressure.”

What in the fuck was that? He kind of wanted to punch himself in the face for that one.

“What are you, fifteen?” She was laughing and outraged all at the same time, he could tell. “I will put out—gross, by the way—if I feel like it, thank you very much.”

He knew it was immature, but the thought of her kissing Alex made his gut hurt. Hell, the thought of her kissing any man made his gut hurt. He wasn’t sure how he’d gone from zero to full-bore feelings for Hal, but it made him feel like a bit of a shit show. “I just meant that he seems a little slick to me and I want you to be careful.”

“Awww,” she said, her voice teasing and quiet. “It’s so adorable when you make me want to hug you and throat-punch you all at the same time.”

“That’s my sweet spot,” he said, trying to force himself to stop thinking about her and Alex.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked.

“Walking to a bar to eat in solitude.”

“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” she said, sounding ridiculously cheery.

“Nah,” he said.

“Why not? You don’t like Minnesota girls?”

“I don’t like meeting strangers in bars.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“Seriously.”

“The judges need clarification. Jack Marshall, man known to get freaky in hotel elevators with red-hot bartenders he doesn’t know, doesn’t like picking up chicks in bars?”

“I’ve always thought it was creepy.”

She sounded amused when she said, “Please explain.”

“It just seems idiotic to see someone and decide you like their appearance enough to start a conversation. It feels so . . . ?”

“Superficial?”

“Bingo.”

“I have to go put on makeup, but I’m intrigued by this side of you. So you’re saying it seems wrong to select a possible mate by their looks without considering their brain first?”

“You have a way with words, and yes.”

“Wow, I might be a little turned on by this feministic outlook on the bar scene,” she teased. “Text me later if you’re bored, okay?”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat and said, “Have fun.”

“But not too much fun, right? Not putting out fun?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he said with a laugh.

He ended the call as he walked into McKenna’s. He bellied up to the bar, where he’d always sat with his uncle Mack, and ordered a burger and a beer.

He looked around—it was starting to get busy for happy hour—and thought how weird it was being there without him.

In the past, Jack had loved it when work sent him to the Twin Cities, because it’d been an excuse to stay with his favorite uncle and hang out. Mack lived in the building above the bar, so McKenna’s had felt like his own personal kitchen. Every time Jack crashed there, he and Mack hit the bar for nearly every meal.

Everyone who walked through the door seemed to know Mack, and everyone who worked there treated him like family. He was like a beloved icon, the person who made life come alive when he entered a room.

And every time Jack visited, Mack had had a different girlfriend.

They all had one thing in common, though: They were fun.

Every girl Mack had ever introduced him to had been beautiful, funny, and down to have a good time. Jack had grown up watching the guy and wanted to be just like him. He’d wondered countless times over the years why anyone would rush to get married and settle down when you could live like that.

Mack wasn’t the life of the party—Mack was the party, wherever he went.

“Here.” The bartender set down Jack’s food and said, “Need ketchup?”

Jack looked at the man and didn’t recognize him. “No, thanks.”

As he unrolled the utensils with the napkin wrapped around them and watched the TV behind the bar, he found it surreal that there wasn’t some sort of accounting of the time his uncle had spent there, some kind of tribute to the man who’d been more mascot than customer.

A plaque, a picture, a retired barstool—there was nothing.

No evidence Uncle Mack had ever been there.

It was like he’d never existed.

Taking a long pull from his pint, Jack thought back to the wake. The whole family had been at the mortuary, hanging out at the visitation and sharing stories, but no one else had shown up. He hadn’t realized at first because the family was so big, but none of Mack’s friends, no one from the bar, none of his girlfriends—not a single person from Mack’s daily life had shown up to pay their respects.

It still pissed him off, and as he ate his dinner and the place thrummed with early-evening energy, he got more pissed for Mack. It was honestly depressing, that his uncle thought he’d been tight with his friends and this bar. Had he been wrong? Had they all humored him but didn’t really give a shit? The women who had fawned over him—what were their stories? Where had they disappeared to?

As much as his mom liked to refer to her brother as a “hopeless bachelor,” Mack had been more than that. He’d been the kindest, funniest, most generous person Jack had ever met, but since he’d chosen not to settle down, his life was just written off as less valuable.

Damn, Jack thought. He was getting far too introspective sitting here alone, and he needed more beer.

He finished his dinner, pounding a few beers while glaring at everyone who dared to hang out in that bar and watch football. All of a sudden, the place he’d considered to be one of his favorite restaurants in the world sucked. He didn’t want to be at that asshole bar anymore, so as soon as the game ended, he paid his tab and went back to his hotel.

He was walking into his room when Hallie texted.

Hallie: Whatcha doin?

He dropped his key card, stepped out of his shoes, and fell back onto the bed.

Jack: Just got back.

Hallie: That was a long dinner. Did you meet someone?

Jack: The only person I met was the bartender who took my order.

Hallie: That sounds lonely.

Her text made him feel a little lonely. He texted: The whole night was weird. I don’t really want to get into it, but let’s just say I used to love this place because my uncle was here, and now he’s not, so it feels like shit.

His phone started ringing, and it did something to his chest when he saw her name on the display. He answered with, “Piper. I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Which is why I’m calling. I thought I’d tell you about my night.”

“Lay it on me.” He got up and walked over to his suitcase. “Tell me everything.”

“Okay. So.” She cleared her throat, and he heard her cat meow in the background. “Alex picked me up and took me to the restaurant. It was nice, the wine was good, and then he ordered a vegan cheese ball as an appetizer and wanted me to try it.”

“Is he vegan?”

“No, he’s just had it before and it’s really good.”

“You didn’t try it, did you?” There was no way that picky Hallie had tried a vegan cheese ball.

“He really wanted me to take a bite, so I did. I took the teeniest, tiniest little bite.”

“And . . . ?” He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the button on his jeans. “How was it?”

“I don’t know, because about thirty seconds after I tried it, my throat got scratchy. Then my cheeks got red and my neck got blotchy.”

“You’re allergic?” Jack stopped undressing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay now.” She sounded tired. “But I learned tonight that I’m violently allergic to cashews, which were apparently a core ingredient in the vegan cheese.”

“Holy shit.” He shucked off his jeans, dropped them into his suitcase, and went back over to the bed. “What happened? You sure you’re okay?”

“Alex had to take me to the ER, and I’m pretty sure he heard me puking my guts out into a barf cone as I waited for the doctor.”

“Holy shit,” he said, wishing he’d been there to help her. “Also, what is a barf cone?”

“The nurse handed me this thing that was like a cardboard circle with a long, latex reservoir attached—barf cone. Vomit condom.”

He started laughing, in spite of his foul mood and the fact that she’d had a health scare. “I’m so sorry you had to use the retch receptacle.”

“It’s okay . . . that I went HAM on the puke pocket.”

“I would’ve held your hair,” he said, still laughing. “If I’d been there.”

“Well, I would’ve eaten with you so you weren’t lonely, if I’d been there,” Hallie said, and her words did something to him. For fuck’s sake, she did something to him.

He cleared his throat and said, “So how’s the cat?”

“Jack, he’s amazing. How is it that I lived my entire life without him, but now, just like that, I can’t even remember the before? Does that sound crazy, to be attached that fast?”

“No,” he said, sitting down on the bed. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”