Page 12 of The Love Wager

“Oh yeah, and who are you delivering this message from?” I sneer.

He playfully points toward Indie, and she bursts out laughing.

“It’s true; I told him that.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t encourage her. She’s drunk.”

Nick gasps, feigning shock. “Indie!”

She shrugs, sliding off the stool. “It was an accident. Honestly, it’s a miracle I got drunk with all the interruptions to my night and my drinking. In all fairness, I should be drunker.”

Making my way around the bar, I pull my keys from my pocket. “I’ll be back,” I tell Nick.

“Oh, don’t rush on my account.” He winks at me, and I snap my teeth at him.

Indie looks over her shoulder as she grabs her bag. She narrows her eyes at me before smiling at Nick. “I never got your name?”

He stands, wiping his hands on his jeans before offering one to her. Of course, he pompously pulls her hand up to his lips and kisses the top of it before telling her, “Nick Holt, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

I roll my eyes at him.

She looks between us, likely trying to suss out our relationship.

“This brute is Brooks Holt, my brother,” Nick adds, and she grins.

“Makes sense. There’s usually a balance in a family, isn’t there? One nice brother, one mean one.”

Nick places his hand over his heart. “I’m flattered, ma’am.”

“Cut the shit,” I tell him, shuffling over and opening the door, holding it wide for her exit. I’ll be glad to be rid of her. However, I won’t be truly rid of her until the wedding week ends. Fuck, it’s going to be a long ass week.

“Well, clearly, I’m the nice brother,” Nick says as Indie finally approaches the door.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she tells him.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” he says, his tone full of enough meaning to knock me over the fucking head with it.

I give him a look before leading Indie toward my beat-up truck parallel parked in front of the bakery a few shops down from the bar, opening the door for her as I stand back.

“You sure you’re okay with taking me? I can Uber,” she says.

I shake my head with a grin on my face. “Ain’t no ooober here, city girl. This is Abaline. Plus, I have a feeling if I don’t take you myself, you’ll haunt my bar for the rest of the week.”

She scoffs, hopping inside and setting her bag down in the middle of the bench seat. “I promise you, I’ll never come back to your bar.”

“Thank God,” I snap, slamming the door shut as I take a few steadying breaths and make my way to the driver’s side.

The end of the week can’t come fast enough.

FIVE

Indie

“Urgh.” I moan, holding my head against the pounding, trying to squish my brain free from my skull. It’s so bad that a beat of the same pulse echoes through the room. When it becomes louder, accompanied by my name, I realize it’s someone knocking at my hotel door.

Why?

“Hold on,” I croak, my throat parched.

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