He glanced over his shoulder and saw Jenna flirting with the tattooed bartender. Knowing her, she’d go home with the man just to irk him, end up with hepatitis C, and blame Gray for the whole thing.
Avoiding Sophie’s eyes, he got to his feet to go talk with Jenna.
“Wait, you can’t go now.” She tugged at his pant leg. “It’s your turn!”
He smoothed away the wrinkle she’d made in his trousers and glanced up at the scoreboard. Sure enough, there was his name blinking next to the string of small, single digits. “You play for me,” he told Sophie.
She snorted. “And ruin your stellar average? I don’t think so.”
“Just toss it into those divots that run down the side of the path.”
“Those would be the gutters, bro,” Jack said. “And by ‘path,’ I’m guessing you meant lane?”
“Whatever,” Gray said. “Would someone just play for me?”
“I’ll take care of this,” Alistair said smugly.
“That’s wonderful,” Gray said. “Just great.”
He hesitated for a moment, the smell of fresh cinnamon buns wafting up to him and filling him with an odd sense of longing. Or was it nostalgia? Unable to resist, and propelled by a rare sense of impulsiveness, he bent down until his lips nearly touched Sophie’s ear.
“Why do you smell like Christmas morning?”
He felt the hitch in her breath, and felt a little unhinged himself by the closeness. Jerking back, he avoided her eyes and headed toward the bar.
“What were you expecting, harlot perfume?” she called after him.
Hiding a smile, Gray slid onto the bar stool next to Jenna. She didn’t acknowledge his presence. He debated his options. Jenna and Gray tended to communicate mostly in sarcasm. Jack was the only Wyatt to ever learn the art of friendly conversation. But he could feel Sophie’s eyes boring into his back and knew she wouldn’t be a fan of anything less than he and Jenna singing “Kumbaya” by the end of the conversation.
“I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up at the airport,” he said quietly, gesturing to the bartender for another beer.
Her body stiffened slightly, and he knew she was debating whether to accept the olive branch or rake him over the coals. He was betting the coals. It was easier than dabbling in emotion.
But she surprised him.
“It’s okay,” she said finally. “I know you’re busy trying to save the world one precious hotel at a time.”
Gray bit his tongue to keep from snapping that it had been his precious hotels that had put her and Jack through law school and enabled the purchase of the designer purses he bought her every year on her birthday.
“Yeah, well, this is one hotel that I won’t be able to add to my collection,” he said bitterly, nodding back toward the Blackwells.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Jenna snuck a cherry from the garnish tray and winked at the bartender. “I suspect that perv and his old man might be warming up to the idea of selling to you,” she said.
He set the bottle to his lips and shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’ve tried every angle, and they just won’t bite.”
“Not every angle.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She gestured toward her chest. “You lack these. The only numbers men like the Blackwells deal in is cup size.”
Gray choked on his beer. “Aside from the fact that I absolutely do not want to be hearing about my little sister’s breasts, is that why you’ve been letting that buffoon dry hump you out there? To help my company?”
She shrugged, looking unsure of herself. “It seemed the least I could do. Sophie mentioned that you were in the middle of a tough deal, and when she orchestrated this entire charade, I thought maybe I could lend a hand. Or a boob.”
Gray’s head spun, both with the idea that the deal could be saved and that his sister had actually gone out on a limb for him. The only thing that didn’t surprise him about this conversation was Sophie’s interference.
“So you’re doing this because my pesky little assistant ambushed you in the airport? How did she even find you?”