Page 53 of In Your Wake

“Are you sure you don’t have beard lice?” I ask. “Whatever’s living in there seems to make you itchy.”

As his gaze returns to mine, I instantly wish I hadn’t teased him. “If I win, you don’t have a say in any of the redecorating I plan on doing.”

“What? That’s insane.”

“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.” He grins, crossing his arms.

“All right.” I stare at him, fisting my hands, then a bright idea pops into my head, making me smile. “And if I win, I get to shave your beard.”

“Hell no. I’m not letting you touch this thing with a ten-foot pole!”

“Ah, as you said, take it or leave it.”

“Um, leave it,” he says, shaking his head.

“Pussy. Clearly, the thing is bugging you. You’d think you’d want to get rid of it.”

He strokes his beard, eyeing me. “Nothing would convince me to let you touch this thing. Sorry.”

I shrug. “Well, if you’re convinced I’m so wrong and won’t win, what difference does it make?”

He narrows his glare as if he’s wishing my head would explode, but dammit, that smirk returns and awakens flutters in my stomach. “You know what? You’re on, Toots. Prepare to lose.”

11

A Bet is a Bet

Max

Looking none the worse for wear, the pigeon flies away unscathed as Mitch locks the latch on the last window.

“All right, Adams. Let’s go,” I say, a triumphant smile on my face.

“What, you want to do it now?” Mitch asks, looking defeated but also nervous.

“Yes, now. If we don’t do this immediately, you’ll back out.” I head to the office, Mitch not far behind.

“I beg to differ. You’re the one who’ll back out.”

“Are you calling me a chicken?”

“The biggest.” He nods toward me, and I glance down at myself. My hoodie has pigeon feathers all over it.

“Ugh, gross.” I rip the sweater off, but the minute my head pops out, I see Mitch staring, his eyes lingering on my chest a little longer than I’d like.

I’m wearing a thin white tank. It’s not like he’s never seen me in less, but still, the heat in his gaze warms my skin, and I raise the sweater to cover up. “Take a picture, why don’t you?”

Caught, he blinks a few times, then looks me in the eye. “Good idea.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone.

“Mitch! Don’t you fucking dare!”

He laughs and shoves the phone back in. “Relax. I wouldn’t do that.” He leans against the doorway of the office, crossing his arms and cocking his head in the cutest way; it nearly makes me forget why I hate him. Nearly.

He rubs his hands together, looking around the room. “All right, where are we doing this?”

“You’re not backing out?” I throw my sweater on the couch.

“No, no. A bet is a bet.” He tilts his chin up. “I’m a man of my word.”