She sighed again, wearily. Clearly he’d disappointed her somehow. Again. “Never mind about Mr. Darcy. I take it you haven’t told your siblings about our little elevator misunderstanding?”
“Tell them what, exactly, that I thought my assistant turned tricks? No, I didn’t mention it. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly prone to chatting.”
“I noticed. But the tension is only because you’re sitting here in the corner like the freaking Grinch. They want to talk to you, but your body language is telling everyone to fuck off.”
“I am not having this conversation with you.”
“Why not? You owe me; I picked your sister up from the airport.”
“Which expressly disobeyed my orders! Town car! I said to get Jenna into a town car!” he exploded.
Several pairs of eyes landed on him. Even in the noisy bowling alley, his voice had carried. Jack gave him a reassuring smile, but Jenna just rolled her eyes in disgust. She abruptly pushed past a startled Alistair and stalked off to the bar.
Sophie looked at him with a censorious expression. “You really should go talk to your sister. Now she thinks that you just wanted to put her into an impersonal Lincoln.”
“That’s exactly what I intended. Then we wouldn’t be in this dreadful bowling alley,” he mumbled.
She poked him in the side. “Go. This is your sister.”
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?”