Page 56 of Her Greatest Mistake

I step out of his embrace, not letting him keep hold of me this time. Then, I turn to glare at him, holding the dress that should have already been on against my front.

“I’ve gotten used to heels over the past eight years.”

He arches a brow, a playful aura about him now. “Really? Should we make a bet, then?”

“Depends what the stakes are.”

“You don’t want to know what we’re betting on first?”

“You don’t think I can last an entire dinner with heels on, and I think I can. Am I missing anything?”

His smirk starts slow, growing and spreading across his face at a turtle’s pace. “Nope.”

I pop a hip. “You’re lying. Spill it.”

“Nope. Name your stakes, baby girl.”

“I’m not a fan of that nickname.”

He scratches at his facial hair, but I think he’s trying to hide his smile. For some reason, that has pinwheels spinning in my tummy.

“Baby is okay, but baby girl isn’t?”

“I never said baby was okay.”

“I took your blush and subtle smile as approval, but maybe I was wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter. It was for show, and it helped ensure Marco bought into the façade. I feel bad about lying to him, by the way. We didn’t need to bring him into this.”

“No? I think he needed to know you have a boyfriend. The guy looked at you too intently. I don’t like it.”

“Too intently?” I start to laugh, but he looks far from entertained. That only makes me laugh harder. “Come on. He’s a co-worker and a damn good vet. He’s been a great help.”

He nods stiffly. “Right. Well, that’s that, then.”

“Nope. Now you’re going to tell me the stakes of this bet and then leave me to get dressed. At this rate, I’m going to end up going in what I’m wearing.”

“Go for it. I don’t need you to wear a dress,” he says, shrugging.

I roll my eyes. “Right. I can see the Twitter posts already. Hurry and leave me be.”

“Fine. If I win, you have to wear my jersey every single day for the remainder of the Warriors’ playoff run.”

I scoff. “No way. I’ll have to wash it constantly. Especially if I have to wear it to work.”

“Sorry, but I’m not budging.”

“Okay, you know what? Fine. But if I win, you have to wear a pair of my scrubs out to dinner in Arizona.”

He roars a laugh that tingles my toes. “Your scrubs? No fucking way. Do you see what you’re wearing right now? Not to mention there’s no way they’ll fit me.”

I glance down at my scrub top and then back up at him. “What’s wrong with my scrubs?”

“They have clouds with smiley faces on them.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you pussying out on me, Maddox? Is the big bad hockey player too scared of a pair of printed scrubs to make a bet?”

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