Page 56 of Blame it on the Bet
Her brows furrow as she takes an exit off the interstate. “It’s an expression.”
“Yes, it is,” I agree, “but a very telling one, don’t you think?”
She doesn’t respond, but she does turn on her blinker and pull over to the side of the road in a suburban development. “What? Are we here?” I ask, twisting around in my seat.
She huffs impatiently.
“No, we are not here. I stopped because it’s time we addressed this whole…situation…don’t you think?”
I consider her expression carefully. She’s calm. And she’s serious. And she’s right.
“Look, Hennessy, I don’t really know what the answer is. I came here to get a deal done and get out of town as fast as possible. Except now…”
“Now what?” she presses when my voice trails off. “Except now I kind of don’t want to leave. I like this
place. I like the people who live here. I like…you. A lot.” There. I’ve said it out loud. No innuendo.
She blinks hard, her cool blue eyes never leaving mine. What’s going on in there? I can’t tell if she’s about to kick me to the curb—literally—or…
Before I can come up with an alternative, she’s responding to my declaration.
“Yeah, I know,” she agrees softly. “I like you, too. A lot.” “What I told you the other day about my family? I’ve never told anyone about that. There’s just something about you that makes me want to spill my guts. I swear to God, this has never happened to me before. With anyone.”
She smiles, seemingly pleased with that little confession. “We’d better go. James will be waiting for us.”
Okay, then. I guess that’s the end of this discussion. Though, I can’t say I’m any closer to understanding this situation than I was ten minutes ago. Except, of course, that she likes me, too. A lot. I’m grinning from ear to ear by the time we arrive at the front door of her sister’s house.
Hennessy lets herself in, and I follow into a two-story vestibule. The Clarkes’s home is beautiful, much newer and bigger and fancier than the houses in Mayhem proper. Miss
Lucy clued me in that this area is very “spendy.” She wasn’t kidding.
“Come on,” she coaxes, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. “My brother-in-law is dying to meet you. He thinks the rest of us are small-town rubes—even though he grew up here like the rest of us.”
She rolls her eyes at me over her shoulder as I follow her down the corridor and into the den.
“Okay…”
When Win Clarke Jr. stands up to greet me, he is incredibly familiar. Not because I know him, specifically, but because I’ve known a hundred guys just like him. He’s tall and broad with boyish good looks. His hair is sandy blond, his eyes are pale blue, and his smile is bright and wide. He’s the student body president, the prom king, and the captain of the football team all rolled into one.
“Bryan Truitt, this is my brother-in-law, Win Clarke,” Hennessy introduces us before drawing my attention to an older man. “And that dashing gentleman sitting in the recliner over there is Win’s father, Winston Clarke Sr. But we all call him Big Win.”
He stands up and joins us, Hennessy giving him a hug and planting a kiss on his cheek as I exchange grips with the younger Clarke.
“Good to meet you,” Win says, pumping my hand hard. “What can I get you to drink?”
I notice the beer bottles on the coffee table. “I’ll have a bottle of whatever you’re drinking.” “Would you like something, Henny?”
“Not right now, thanks, Win.”
He nods and ducks across the hall toward what I presume is the kitchen. At least, that’s where the amazing smells are coming from.
“So, Mr. Clarke, I understand you’ve recently retired.”
He nods. “Please, please, call me Big Win,” he insists in a voice that’s somehow both soft and commanding. “Yes, I have. Thought it’d be nice to get in some fishing and spend some more time with the grandson.”
“Ah yes, little Jackson.”
It’s all I have to say. A knowing smile crosses his features. “He’s a handful, that one,” he chuckles. “But, then again, so was his father.”
