Blame it on the Bet (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  “And just how is he protecting his family?” I demand.

  Bryan shoots me a sidelong glance.

  “Don’t you get it? All that stuff about me and what I’m doing here, that was his lame way of looking out for you.”

  “Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  I purse my lips, clutch the steering wheel harder, and look straight forward, refusing to even entertain this asinine theory.

  “You sure about that? He was worried about me taking advantage of you. He wanted to make sure you got the most money possible. He wanted to know why I was hanging around so long. None of that was about him. It was about you…and your sisters. Trust me on this, Hennessy, guys know guys. Do I think Win Clarke Jr. is an ass? Absolutely. Do I think he wants to see anything bad happen to you? Not for a second. He just doesn’t know how to go about being an ass and being a good guy at the same time. It’s like Superman and Clark Kent. They can’t occupy the same space at the same time.”

  Superman? Seriously? Well, now I have to entertain this asinine theory because he’s made it so…so…asinine!

  “Dude, you’re just…that’s…that’s just wrong,” I sputter.

  “No, don’t you see?” He’s really getting into this. “Bad Win acts like a jerk because he doesn’t like himself for whatever reason. Good Win feels like a jerk and doesn’t like himself because Bad Win acts like a jerk. Vicious cycle.”

  “Circle,” I correct.

  “I think it can be either.”

  “You hungry?” I ask.

  “Oh God, yeah. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough once everything started to hit the fan.”

  I snicker.

  “You mean once the potatoes hit your head.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  …

  I lead him around to the apartment’s side entrance, which goes directly upstairs.

  “Look at you with your super-secret staircase,” he comments.

  “Couldn’t be all that secret, seeing as how you were waiting here for me this morning,” I remind him.

  “Nah, I thought it was just a back way out of the pub. I didn’t realize it led up here. In fact, I didn’t realize there was an actual apartment up here. It just shows as unfinished space on the blueprints on file with the town.”

  “This is where I grew up. For a while, anyway,” I explain as we climb the stairs and I unlock the door at the top. When we step inside, the apartment is bathed in late afternoon sunlight.

  “Hey, do you mind if I change in your bathroom?” he asks, patting the gym bag he’s brought up with him from the car. “Don’t ask me how, but I think I’ve got to get out of this suit. There may be potatoes mushed down into my pockets.”

  “Of course, just down the hall. First door on the left.”

  While he’s gone, I ring the intercom that links the apartment kitchen with the pub kitchen.

  “Kitchen,” Donovan’s voice comes crackling up at me from below.

  “Hey, Don, it’s Hennessy. Are you busy? I’m wondering if you’ve got a shepherd’s pie down there that I can get my hands on.”

  “You betcha, boss. It’s on its way,” he assures me.

  “Perfect. Thanks, Don.” I hang up and take a deep breath, scanning the small kitchen around me. I’m a little alarmed to find I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. First date butterflies. What? No… Oh yeah. Having Bryan Truitt in this apartment, alone, is a little…thrilling. And exciting. And scary.

  Definitely first date butterflies. But this isn’t even a real date!

  Right?

  Shaking off my confusion and ignoring the fluttering in my tummy, I start to set the table, pulling down dishes from the cupboard and lifting silverware from the drawer. I find a bottle of Merlot in the cabinet above the fridge, and I rummage around for wineglasses. The good wineglasses. I rinse them and set them on the table, then stand back and take in my handiwork.

  “Nice,” I murmur, just as Bryan sticks his head back into the kitchen.

  “Hey, the carpentry work in this place is amazing! I hope you don’t mind, I just took a peek around. My God, the built-in dressers and bookcases are beautiful.”

  “My pops made those,” I inform him proudly. “You said there was only unfinished space on the blueprints? That’s because he bought it like that, and then he and my mom put in the apartment themselves.”

  His dark brows arch up in surprise. I like surprised on him. It’s a nice change of pace from smug and all-knowing.

  “Seriously? I mean, that’s the work of a craftsman, not a hobbyist.”

  “Yeah, well, things were pretty tight when I was very young, and if my parents wanted something, they had to do it themselves. Even the pub. That used to be a restaurant downstairs. They gutted it and turned it into what it is today. I was a munchkin then. There are pictures of me asleep in my bassinet on the floor while my father is hammering a two-by-four not five feet away. I guess I just got used to the noise.” I laugh. “But all that woodwork down there was Pops. He built that bar by hand.”

  Bryan looks impressed.

  “Jeez, he had some talent, your father.”

  “He did,” I agree, pulling a corkscrew from a drawer and handing it to him. “Would you mind opening that bottle on the counter for me? I think I hear our supper coming up the stairs.”

  “What, like room service? Well, that’s a nice little perk.”

  I open the door to the back staircase just in time to greet Donovan, who has a large, stainless steel tray balanced on his shoulder.

  “Dinner is served,” he quips as I step aside so he can enter the kitchen.

  “Bryan, have you met Donovan Douglas? He’s our cook. Well, I guess ‘chef’ is more flattering.” I chuckle and elbow his ribs gently.

  “We haven’t officially met, but I’m a big fan. Man, that chili you made for the cook-off would’ve been my favorite if I’d been allowed to vote for you,” Bryan gushes, and Donovan smiles proudly.

  “Thanks, man, I appreciate that. I hope you like shepherd’s pie, too. That’s my specialty,” he announces proudly as he sets the deep pie dish on the table atop a folded bar towel that doubles as a trivet.

  “Hey, this thing is mammoth,” I say, poking at the pie. “It’s like the size of a wagon wheel! Do you want to take a break and join us, Donovan?”

  But he’s already turning back toward the stairs. “Sorry, Hen, I can’t. The Sunday night darts league has their first match tonight, and Walker’s already freaking out. I’ve got to go back down there and talk her off the ledge.”

  “Oh…did you want me to go down and help out?” I offer, hoping he’ll decline. He does.

  “Nah, we got it covered. But I’ll ring you up here if we get into the weeds.”

  “Fair enough,” I agree, closing the door behind him. “Please, sit,” I gesture to the table and pull out my own chair. Bryan joins me with a freshly poured glass of Merlot, and I take a long, slow sip.

  “What was that about?” Bryan asks as I scoop a steaming heap of the pie onto his plate. “Your sister doesn’t strike me as one to lose her cool.”

  “She doesn’t, really. But for some reason, Walker’s got a lot of self-doubt. Especially when it comes to the pub. She’s loved being there since she could turn the doorknob and manage the stairs herself. And of course, Pops loved that about her. He was grooming her to be his Mini Me. You’d never know it to look at her, but Walker took his death harder than all of us. They were really close. And now, it’s like she’s afraid she’ll let him down.”

  He nods his understanding.

  “Yeah, I so get that.”

  “You and your dad?” I venture slowly. But he shakes his head.

  “No, actually, me and Helen,” he clarifies and takes a sip of wine.

  I feel my chest tighten.

  “Helen is your…girlfriend?”

  I’m totally unprepared for the shower of red wine that sprays across the table.

 
“Holy crap, Bryan!” I squeal and laugh at the same time. “What the hell was that?”

  But he’s choking. And laughing. And crying. It takes almost a full minute for him to be able to speak again. I grab some paper towels.

  “She’s my assistant,” he rasps. “And she bears a striking resemblance to one of those funny troll dolls. No way—I think I’d join Father Romance at the seminary before I’d get in a romantic relationship with Helen!”

  “Okay, okay,” I laugh, sopping up the red wine. “If there’s not attraction between you, then what’s the deal with her?”

  “What I meant is that she’s really helped me to get myself together. Before her, there was a string of gorgeous, clueless women parading through my office. Helen got me off the late-night party circuit and broke me out of the hung-over workday habit. She made sure I looked presentable and acted like a professional.” He pauses and looks down at his lap for a few seconds before finally raising his dark brown eyes to mine. They’re filled with a depth of sincerity and emotion that I haven’t seen from him before.

  “I–I don’t think I realized how far down the rabbit hole I’d gone until she grabbed me by my stained necktie and dragged me out. And, believe me, I fought her every step of the way, too. I must’ve fired that woman a dozen times. But she just kept coming back. Kept telling me I had to get the hell out of my own way. And she was right.”

  I find that I’ve been hanging on his every word, leaning across the table on my elbows, chin resting on the propped-up palm of my right hand. I draw a deep breath and pull myself back into the here and now. I like this guy. In fact, I like him more and more with every passing hour that we’re together. But I have to remember…

  “Bryan, what’s your end game? What happens when all this is over—one way or the other?” I blurt. I don’t know where I get the nerve to ask, but now that the question is out there, I need to hear the answer.

  His brows knit as he considers his reply. A couple of times he starts to speak but stops himself. At last, he commits to a thought.

  “My endgame is always the same, Hennessy: to get what I want. I’ve never lied to anyone about that.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Thing is… While the goal hasn’t changed, the parameters of it have.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I ask with some irritation. “I don’t like doubletalk, Bryan. I get entirely too much of it in my line of work, so just spit it out. Please.”

  “It means,” he begins, standing up and moving around the table until he’s directly in front of my chair, “that I’m not sure what it is I want anymore. I came here looking for one thing, and now I’ve found something else entirely.”

  I look up at him. His strong, square jaw has just a hint of stubble, and his normally perfect hair is a little tousled. Bryan Truitt looks handsome and respectable in his expensive suits and fancy shoes. But Bryan Truitt looks smoking hot in jeans and a button-down shirt. He offers me his hand, and for some inexplicable reason, I take it.

  We’re only inches apart when he puts his hands on my shoulders, keeping those eyes, the color of molten chocolate, trained on mine.

  “Do you know what you want, Hennessy?” he asks me, his voice barely more than a rumble in his chest.

  I should say that I want to go back to my apartment and my job. I should say that I’m ready to be a responsible adult again, doing the work I’ve been trained to do. I should say that he has absolutely no effect on me, so he should just shuffle on back to his life in L.A.

  But I can’t say any of those things. So I just shake my head and brace for the worst. I’m certain that he’s going to tease me, or worse, mock me. But he doesn’t. Bryan Truitt gives me the sweetest, softest smile I think I’ve ever seen in my life. And then, he puts a big, warm hand to my cheek. I find myself leaning into it as if by instinct. He keeps it there as he leans down, his face connecting to mine.

  At first, the kiss is a whisper against my lips, a caress as light as a feather. But after a few moments, it turns into something darker and all consuming. I wrap my arms under his shoulders so that my palms are resting against his back, pulling him into me.

  My God, it’s been so long…

  For the briefest of seconds, I flash on my neighbor friend. The one with the benefits. Except, suddenly I’m not seeing as much benefit to that relationship as I did a month ago. Suddenly, convenient and low-key and simple are looking a whole lot less appealing. Suddenly, I realize that what I really want—what I’m really longing for—is a messy, complicated relationship that spills over into every aspect of my life. I want a man and a love that consume me.

  The second I feel his hands on my waist, all thoughts of any other man…of every other man…just fall away.

  And then there is only him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bryan

  Truittism No. 12: Don’t think about it, just do it. You can always kick yourself in the butt for it later.

  I don’t know what makes me do it. It might have been the way the last of the afternoon sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. It caught all the bits of gold in her hair, making a wild, beautiful halo around her head. And those eyes, like no other color of blue I’ve ever seen before. Her lips, too. They were so sweet and soft and silky—it was like kissing rose petals.

  Whatever it was that made me do it, something made her go along with it, because this was not a one-sided venture. Miss Hennessy O’Halloran was giving as good as she got…and it just about knocked my socks off. Scared the crap out of both of us, too. When we finally broke our lip-lock, we returned to eat our supper, albeit a little awkwardly. I stayed for a glass of wine and some coffee afterward and delivered a very chaste peck to her freckled cheek before slipping down the back staircase.

  I’m about to climb into the car and head back to the inn when I feel pulled in another direction. The temperature is dropping fast as it gets dark outside, and, not for the first time, I’m thankful I let Bailey talk me into the expensive parka as I zip it up against the encroaching chill. The boots, too, are convenient as I pick my way through breaks in the mounds of snow to cross the street and walk the two blocks to the Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop.

  The shop is about to close when I get there, but as soon as Janet Lahti spots me, she comes and steers me by the elbow to a small table in the back corner. She doesn’t ask me what I want, and I don’t tell her. Mainly because I don’t know what I want. I mean, I just had a huge dinner, and I’m not the least bit hungry. Still, I’m drawn to the steaming mug of coffee she sets down in front of me, and, of course, the pie.

  Janet takes a seat across from me and watches casually as I examine the contents of the flakey crust. “Apple?”

  “Cranberry apple walnut,” she says.

  She’s put a scoop of vanilla ice cream atop the massive slice, and it’s melting into the warmth of the pie. When I take a bite, I can’t help but close my eyes and savor the flavors in my mouth. They’re buttery and rich. Not too sweet, though.

  “Perfect,” I mumble. “Absolutely perfect.”

  “What does it taste like?” she asks me.

  I consider the question for a moment. She’s not asking about the butter to sugar ratio. She wants to know what I experience when I taste this pie, and while a week ago I’d have said this little exercise is ridiculous, I’m not inclined to do that today. I swallow the bite and wash it down with the rich coffee before I look up to meet her patient brown eyes.

  “It tastes like home,” I tell her, my voice barely above a whisper.

  A huge smile spreads across Janet’s face, and she reaches out to put a warm, soft hand over mine. She nods as she pats it, then she gets up to greet her other patrons.

  I sit in the corner until I’ve sipped every last drop and eaten every last crumb.

  …

  “Hi, Helen,” I say as I look up at the ceiling in the King Gustav suit. The wallpaper seems to be stationary tonight—which is a very good thing. I’m so f
ull that I think I’d hurl if it started to move.

  “Hey,” she says, obviously surprised to be hearing from me so late. “You okay?”

  “Yeah…”

  “You been drinking?”

  “No…well, yeah, a little, but not like you think.”

  “Okay. What’s going on?” she asks, her concern becoming more evident.

  “I just…I wanted you to know that I’m really grateful for you. For everything you’ve done for me, Helen. I don’t tell you that often enough, I know.”

  “You don’t tell me that ever.”

  I chuckle, but it’s a sad kind of chuckle.

  “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m telling you now.”

  There’s a long pause on her end of the line.

  “And I appreciate that, Bryan. More than you could ever know.”

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Helen,” I murmur in a voice scarcely above a whisper. “I came here wanting one thing…”

  “And now you want something totally different,” she surmises.

  “Yes.”

  “Is it her? Hennessy?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Like I said…I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m never like this. I’m shrewd and cool and…ruthless. Now I’m all freaking squishy and soft, and I really don’t even give a crap about the property anymore. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Oh, Bryan,” Helen says softly. “It’s not that there’s something wrong with you. It’s that there’s something right with you. And it’s been so long since you’ve felt anything like this for anyone that it’s unnatural to you. Suspect, even.”

  As usual, she’s put her finger on it. I can’t deny the power of what I’m feeling…nor can I deny that I distrust it.

  “So what do I do now?”

  God, I hate sounding so weak, but I’m really at a loss and this woman has never been anything but brutally honest with me since the first time we laid eyes upon one another.

  She sighs deeply.

  “Trust your gut, Bryan.”

  “I can’t,” I spit out before she even finishes the sentence. “I can’t. I did that before and…”