Page 22 of The Love Wager

“Ambiance.” She shrugs.

“It’s nice.” I nod toward the food, hoping I’m doing just enough to stay in her good graces and avoid acting like a pompous ass.

I’ve done quite enough of that already.

“That smells delicious,” she says, pretending she doesn’t know it’s takeout, and I’m thankful for the gesture.

While I can cook, I hadn’t had the time in the small span of time I had between dropping her off, kissing her senseless in the rain, and then showering off the mud she caked all over me. However, Casa Mia had time to cook me food and have it ready for me to snag before getting her.

“It’s from my favorite Italian place.”

As her teeth sink into her garlic knot, I swallow, trying not to be a creep but wanting to be that buttery bread so badly.

I clear my throat, adjusting in my seat as my pants seem a bit too tight. “So, how’s your time in Abaline been?”

Small talk, really?

Her eyes crinkle as a playful smile curls her lips up her face. “Other than the grumpy proprietor kicking me off his bar and cutting my karaoke show short, great.”

I shake my head. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

She laughs. “Nope. Never.”

Unspoken words hang between us, but neither acknowledges them as we carry on our conversation through dinner. We discuss her life in California and mundane things like our favorite colors.

That kiss still has both of us acting a bit out of character. I can’t stop thinking about how her lips felt, but then that thought leads me to obsess about how it felt to have her body grinding over my lap. Then, I head down a dark alley of thoughts, where I’m wading in the sound she made when she did so. I shake away from the thoughts that’ll lead me nowhere good as I re-focus on Indie and what she’s saying.

Her fork is waving back and forth animatedly, and I’m certain I was checked out for half of it.

“Anyhow,” she trails off awkwardly. “Restroom?”

I point. “Down the hall to the right. The only door cracked open.”

I know because I hurriedly cleaned it before picking her up, leaving it cracked so the wax I have melted in there doesn’t overpower her and leave her unconscious on the floor. Aunt Ruth taught me many things, but the one thing that stuck was that company will never forget how clean your bathroom is.

Indie’s phone vibrates across the tabletop a few times before silencing, only to do so again a few times. My fingers itch as I shake my head at the thought of peeking at her screen. A couple of kisses, and I’m ready to break her trust and see who’s texting her. Could it be a boyfriend she hasn’t mentioned?

God, what am I, a lovesick puppy?

The phone continues, and I wonder how I hadn’t noticed it before. Then, I recall her standing and taking it out of her lap before heading to the bathroom. I’m honestly shocked she left the thing behind in the first place. It’s very un-twenty first century of her.

I snatch it up by the fifth set of vibrations before overthinking it. There’s no passcode, which is asinine, and I quickly open the message that had been losing its mind.

It’s between her and Taylor, not shocking. What is shocking, however, is the stream of messages discussing some wager between them—one involving me and an absurd amount of money.

The cogs in my mind spin as I hear the door to the bathroom open. Locking the phone, I place it back where it was before, looking aloof and shoving another mouthful of pasta in my mouth.

We make it through dinner, and I don’t break down and tell her what I’ve done. Guilt doesn’t eat me as much as shame does. Of course, she doesn’t want me; I’m a pawn in a game. The thing is, she could be, too. I can’t stop thinking about blurting my plan out to her, but then I’d have to admit I snuck into her phone.

“I know it’s late,” I tell her as I place the last tray of leftovers into the fridge that I know Nick will devour after closing the bar for me tonight. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

Even if it’s all contrived, I don’t hate her company. Maybe by the third act of whatever movie she chooses, I’ll get up the nerve to proposition her.

That sounds awful.

I’m still scolding myself when she walks over and grabs the remote, plopping down and kicking her shoes off as if she was waiting for me to offer all along.

“What kind of movie do you want to watch?” she asks, casually flicking through my streaming services.

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