His eyes moved all over her, from her hair to her face and down the length of her dress, before he just said, “Wow.”
“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She’s making all the bridesmaids wear white tonight. It’s so over-the-top, but she’s the bride.”
She turned away from him and went to grab her beaded handbag from the nightstand. “I’m going to go down to Chuck’s so you can have some privacy—”
“No.”
“Huh?” She looked at him over her shoulder, and as he cleared his throat, her eyes dropped down to his neck, his sweat-dampened shirt, and then his legs.
Oh, God, those legs. He had thick, chiseled calves.
She was such a sucker for a good calf.
He had very bitable calves, if that was a thing.
He said, “Just stay. I need ten minutes tops in the bathroom and I’m ready.”
“You sure?” She straightened and turned around, but she was having trouble with words. Out of nowhere, she was zapped with the awareness that he was going to be showering, naked, just through that door in mere minutes, getting all wet and soapy and—oh, my.
“Yep.”
“Okay. Cool.” She walked over to the mirror that hung between the hotel fridge and the desk and leaned a little closer to check her lipstick.
“Don’t move.” Jack walked over and stepped behind her, and they looked at each other in the mirror. “You’re only halfway zipped.”
“Oh.” Hallie sucked in a breath when she felt his fingers on her zipper, his other hand on her lower back, and the heat of his body behind her. Through the mirror, she watched his eyes on her back as he slowly slid up the zipper. She saw the clench of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils, and how his left hand lingered after the zipper reached the top, resting on her lower back. After a moment, he stepped back, cleared his throat, and said, “Okay—how long do I have?”
She blinked, confused for a second, before looking around him in the mirror at the clock. “Uh, fifteen minutes,” she said.
He nodded and walked toward the garment bag that was hanging next to the bathroom. “Easy peasy,” he said, before going in the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
Jack
He was pretty sure the weekend was going to kill him.
He turned on the shower, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get the image of Hallie in that white dress out of his head. Her wavy hair, red lipstick, pearl earrings—she looked like a fucking bride.
What was that expression—a man plans and God laughs?
Yeah, someone was cackling at that moment at his idiotic fake relationship plan.
He toed off his running shoes and pulled his shirt over his head before he grabbed his phone and texted Hallie.
Jack: I should’ve said this before, but you look incredible.
He knew she was wrinkling her brow as she read the message.
Hallie: Why are you texting me from the bathroom?
Jack: Because I don’t want this sentiment to get caught up in our games. Your buddy Jack—not fake boyfriend—is telling you in a purely subjective statement that you look absolutely stunning.
Hallie: Well if I’m being honest with my real-life bestie, not my fake bf, I’m having the best time vacationing with you and I don’t want it to end.
Jack: Same.
He put down the phone, shed his remaining clothes, and got in the shower.
He wished he had any fucking clue what Hallie was thinking. What she was feeling.
Because it appeared to him that she was enjoying their little game just as much as he was. But she seemed casual as hell about it—blasé, even, which made him think she was still his wingwoman and just “leaning in” to the weekend of pretend, whatever she even meant by that.
And if that was the case, he couldn’t bare his soul to her and risk losing her as a friend.
He quickly shaved, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair before getting dressed, and when he walked out of the bathroom and looked at her in that dress again, leaning back on the bed and looking at her phone, his necktie felt like it was strangling him.
His phone buzzed as he slid his feet into his dress shoes, and he pulled it out of his pocket.
Hallie: Don’t let this go to your head, but you look handsome AF. Like, I want to call you beautiful, but I feel like you’ll be insulted.
Jack tried to swallow, but his throat was fucked up all of a sudden.
He texted back: Are you ready to go, TB?
He kept his eyes on his phone but heard her giggle as she texted: I am. But I feel like I should warn you—your girlfriend gets a little handsy when she drinks wine.
He couldn’t not grin, and he responded with: Then I feel like I should warn YOU—when my girlfriend gets handsy, I usually find the nearest broom closet or elevator and make her scream.
He did look at her then, half smiling because he knew he’d shut her up, and he instantly regretted it. Because first, her mouth dropped open and her cheeks got red; the response he’d been shooting for. But then—holy balls—she puckered her crimson lips, tilted her head, looked him straight in the face, and raised an interested eyebrow.
Fuck my life, he thought, as he pulled open the door and held it for her.
Chapter
TWENTY
Hallie
“So we want the bridal party out in the hallway,” Hallie’s mother shouted, “and everyone else in the ballroom.”
Hallie rolled her eyes and said to Jack, who was holding her hand and patiently waiting for the rehearsal to get under way, “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be in the ballroom, apparently.”
She started pulling away, but he jerked her back and kissed the tip of her nose. His eyes were warm as he smiled down at her, and her stomach did the tiniest little flip as she had no choice but to smile back.
She was grinning as she walked out into the hallway, lost in her own thoughts. So much so that she didn’t even see Ben until he said, “Hey, Hal.”
She stopped walking and looked at him, irrationally irritated by his use of her shortened name. “Ben. Hi.”
He smiled and said, “You look great.”
“Thanks.” She rubbed her lips together and looked at a spot just past his shoulders, because she didn’t want to see his warm brown eyes. She said, “Yeah, you, too.”
Of course Ben was the kind of perfect guy who couldn’t abide the elephant in the room, so he said, “Listen, I don’t want this wedding to be awkward—”
She held up a hand. “It won’t.”
“—so I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
She dropped her hand and did look at his eyes then, shocked by his words. Apologizing had never really been his thing, even when he’d ripped her heart out. Hallie crossed her arms, suddenly cold, and said, “For . . . ?”
“For everything.” He squeezed the Fiji water bottle he was holding, like he was nervous, and said, “I’m so sorry.”
She looked at him and was seriously conflicted. Part of her wanted him to suffer forever, because she could still feel the pain of his rejection. She might not want him anymore, but she’d be lying if she said that certain songs didn’t take her right back to that September and still fill her with an aching melancholy.