Page 72 of The Love Wager

Ilift the bottle of champagne Brooks pulled out from the backroom and top off everyone’s glasses, feeling the warmth of the moment settle over me. We’re crammed into the same booth where we sat for Taylor’s bachelorette party, and I can’t help but marvel at how much has changed in less than a year.

My best friend is married and already talking about babies. I have a gorgeous, vintage-inspired ring on my finger and the man I love sitting beside me. My business has expanded to where I now have an entire team behind me, which means I can finally carve out some time for myself—something that will be crucialwith my own wedding on the horizon. Brooks, meanwhile, has launched his own mobile bartending business, and with the number of events I have on my calendar, he’s been completely booked solid. It works perfectly.

“Let me see it again!” Taylor squeals from across the table.

The bar’s quieter now, the crowd thinning out after last call. A few regulars linger at the counter, finishing their round.

I pull my hand free from Brooks', where he’s been absentmindedly toying with my ring as we catch up with friends and family, celebrating our engagement. It feels so good to be back here, surrounded by everyone we love. I hold my hand out, the diamond catching the light.

“Eek! You did so good, Brooksie! And you didn’t even need my help,” Taylor gushes, taking my fingers in hers and giving them a squeeze.

I beam at Brooks, feeling a swell of love and pride. He knew me well enough to pick out the perfect ring—one that’s vintage, elegant, and exactly what I would have chosen for myself. He even got the sizing just right.

“He sure did,” I murmur, my voice low and just for him.

The room seems to fade away as he looks at me, his gaze locking with mine. I love our friends and miss them, but we’ve let them stay their welcome. I need to be alone with him. The heat in his eyes sends a spark of desire racing through me, and the pulse in my core quickens. He must sense it, too, because, without a word, he hops out of the booth and lets loose a sharp whistle over the jukebox. The talking ceases, but the music plays on softly in the background.

It’s well past two a.m., and on any other night, the bar would be wiped down and closed for the night. But tonight, we weren’t ready to shut the party down—perks of sleeping with the owner.

“Alright, bar’s officially closed. Time to pack it in, folks,” Brooks announces, his voice carrying over the melody of a country love song.

Taylor scowls in his direction, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of being shooed away so soon. But Spencer leans in, whispering something in her ear, and her expression softens before that signature megawatt smile lights up her face.

“Fine, fine. We’ll get out of your hair,” she concedes, making her way toward the front door behind Nick, who’s letting us crash upstairs this week, followed by the last of the regulars.

Before she disappears out the door, she pulls me in for a tight hug and whispers an enthusiastic, “I told you so” in my ear.

Brooks locks the door, then pulls the string on the open sign to switch off the neon glow. The lingering sounds of the bar seem to dissipate as he stalks toward me, his boots crunching over the scattered peanut shells on the floor.

I lean back against one of the now-empty tables, the weight of his stare warming me from a distance.

“So, we know the insurance company frowns upon dancing on your... I meanourbar,” I tease, eyes sparkling. “But how do you think they’d feel about sex on one of the tables? Or would that be more of an issue for the health inspector?”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips as he closes the distance between us. “You gonna be trouble for me, red?”

“Every day, for the rest of your life.”