Chapter 1 The Hunter and the Prey at the Wedding

# The Game of Hearts

## Chapter 1: The Hunter and the Prey at the Wedding

I've always been good at weddings. Not the sobbing-into-tissues part, but the after-hours game where hearts are temporary prizes and phone numbers are trophies. Some women collect shoes; I collect the dazed expressions of groomsmen who thought they'd scored, only to find I'd vanished by morning.

"Layla, you look absolutely stunning!" My friend Jess—today's bride—grabbed my hands and twirled me around, my burgundy bridesmaid dress flaring elegantly.

"Not as stunning as you," I replied honestly. She was radiant, glowing with the kind of happiness I'd convinced myself was fictional.

"Just promise me one thing," she whispered, leaning close. "No breaking hearts tonight? It's my special day."

I placed a hand over my heart. "Scout's honor." Though technically, I was never a scout.

The ceremony was beautiful, if predictable. I discreetly wiped away a tear during the vows—not because I believed in forever, but because Jess did, and her happiness was genuine. As we filed out afterward, I scanned the groomsmen, mentally cataloging possibilities for later. Old habits.

That's when I saw him.

He stood across the garden, champagne flute in hand, talking to an elderly woman who was clearly charmed by whatever he was saying. Dark hair styled just messy enough to look effortless, a suit that fit like it was created for his shoulders. But it wasn't his appearance that caught my attention—it was the way he scanned the room. Calculating. Assessing. Just like me.

When our eyes met, there was a flash of recognition. Not of each other personally, but of what we were. Hunters recognizing another predator in their territory.

"That's Aidan," whispered Tina, another bridesmaid. "Mark's college roommate. Three bridesmaids from Sarah's wedding last month still text him daily. Proceed with caution."

I smiled. "Caution isn't really my style."

The reception was in full swing when he finally approached. I'd watched him charm his way through two bridesmaids and a female cousin of the groom. Amateur moves. Effective, but lacking subtlety.

"You've been watching me," he said, appearing beside me at the bar.

"Have I?" I sipped my martini. "Or have you been watching me?"

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His smile was slow, deliberate. "Let's call it mutual appreciation. I'm Aidan."

"Layla." I didn't offer my hand. That would be too easy.

"So what's your usual success rate at these things?" he asked, surprising me with his directness. "Three numbers? Four?"

I laughed. "You think small."

"And you deflect questions. Interesting strategy."

The bartender slid his whiskey across the counter. Aidan thanked him without breaking eye contact with me.

"Here's what I think," he continued. "I think you're bored. The thrill of the chase isn't thrilling anymore when you always catch your prey."

"Speaking from experience?" I countered.

"Absolutely." No shame, no hesitation. I had to admire that. "So I have a proposition."

"I'm listening."

"A game. You and me. Let's see who can maintain the upper hand the longest. No feelings, no attachments. First one to get serious loses."

I arched an eyebrow. "And what's the prize?"

"Bragging rights. And the satisfaction of watching the other person admit defeat."

It was ridiculous. Childish, even. But as I looked around at the reception—the same scene I'd witnessed dozens of times—I felt that familiar emptiness. The hollow victory of another conquest, another number I'd never call.

"You're on," I said. "But I should warn you, I never lose."

He clinked his glass against mine. "There's a first time for everything."

We separated after that, each returning to our respective hunting grounds. I danced with the best man, laughed at the jokes of a groomsman named Tyler, and let a third man—whose name I'd already forgotten—get me another drink.

But my attention kept drifting to Aidan. The way he leaned in when women spoke to him, making each feel like the only person in the room. The practiced touch on an elbow, the perfect timing of his laughter. He was good. Too good.

As the night wound down, I watched him exchange numbers with the maid of honor. Amateur move—too obvious. I'd collected three numbers more discreetly, including one from the wedding photographer who'd whispered that he'd "shoot me anytime." Photographers always think they're so clever.

The reception ended with Jess and Mark driving off in a vintage convertible, trailing ribbons and tin cans. I hugged Jess goodbye, genuinely happy for her despite my cynicism about lasting love.

"Where are you staying tonight?" Tina asked as we gathered our things.

"The Archer Hotel downtown," I replied. "My flight's not until tomorrow afternoon."

I felt rather than saw Aidan's presence nearby, pretending to be engrossed in his phone but clearly listening. Our eyes met briefly. A challenge.

The hotel lobby was elegant, all marble and soft lighting. I checked in, flirting just enough with the front desk clerk to secure a room upgrade. As I waited for the elevator, I sensed someone behind me.

"Fancy meeting you here," Aidan's voice was low, amused.

"Following me already? That's desperate."

"I've had my reservation for weeks. Room 1542."

The elevator arrived with a soft ding. We both stepped inside, alone in the small space. The tension was immediate, electric.

"Sixteen twenty-one," I said, pressing the button for my floor.

"Higher floor. Better view," he noted. "Well played."

The elevator began its ascent, humming softly in the silence between us. I could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle.

"So," he said, "how many numbers tonight?"

"Enough." I smiled. "You?"

"Quality over quantity."

The elevator stopped at the twelfth floor, but no one got on. As the doors closed again, our phones chimed simultaneously. I glanced at mine:

*Hey beautiful, can't stop thinking about you. Room 1217 if you're feeling adventurous. -Tyler*

I looked up to find Aidan reading his own message, a small smile playing on his lips. Our eyes met, and understanding passed between us.

"Let me guess," I said. "Blonde, blue dress, couldn't stop touching your arm?"

He chuckled. "And yours? The best man with the bad jokes?"

I shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. The elevator continued upward, the tension between us shifting from competitive to something more complicated.

"Same time, different rooms," he mused. "We even schedule our infidelities in sync."

"Maybe we deserve each other," I replied, surprised by my own honesty.

The elevator slowed at his floor. As the doors opened, he hesitated.

"You know," he said, "this game might be more interesting than I thought."

He stepped out, turning to hold the doors open for a moment longer.

"Sleep well, Layla. And may the best player win."

The doors closed on his confident smile, and I leaned back against the elevator wall, heart racing more than it should. For the first time in years, I felt something beyond the thrill of conquest.

I felt challenged.

As the elevator continued upward, I deleted Tyler's message without replying. Tonight, I'd sleep alone—not because I was changing my ways, but because I needed to strategize. Aidan wasn't like the others. He knew the game because he played it too.

This wouldn't be an easy victory. But then again, nothing worth winning ever is.