Page 70 of Blame it on the Bet
It’s after ten o’clock before Hennessy crawls out of bed and stumbles down the hall to where I’m reading the newspaper in the kitchen. She’s wearing a Vikings football jersey that hangs down to her knees, and she has the hottest morning- after hair that I think I’ve ever seen.
“Hey, you,” she rasps, scratching her sexy bedhead.
“Hey, yourself,” I murmur, getting to my feet and taking her into my arms. “Did you sleep well?”
She puts her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, morning breath,” she mumbles through a bashful grin. “Yes, I slept great. I just wish I could’ve slept more.”
I pull her hand away and kiss her softly, ignoring her protests about the morning breath.
“Your wish is my command,” I say between kisses, walking her backward toward the bedroom she just left.“I’m guessing the sheets are still warm. I can bring you coffee, and I got some pastries at the bakery…and then you can show me all the sights.”
“What sights are those?” she asks distractedly as we hobble along down the hallway and my mouth finds her earlobe.
“Your sights,” I murmur between nibbles. “I was hoping to get the guided tour of Hennessy O’Halloran. I mean, I had a look around last night, but it was dark out, and I didn’t get to really appreciate the flora and the fauna…”
She’s giggling happily right up until the moment there’s a loud buzz from the intercom next to the door that leads to the exterior staircase. We both jump, startled by the unexpected sound.
“What the…?” she grumbles as she goes to the door and presses a button.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
The line crackles, and a nasal male voice fills the hall. “I’m looking for Mr. Hennessy O’Halloran?”
I start to laugh, but one glare from her turns it into a perfectly innocent cough.
“Who is this, please?” More crackle.
“Uh, my name is Jonathan Pettit. I represent U.S. Title and Trade. I’m the trustee of this property. May I come up and speak with you?”
She looks at me, face suddenly full of concern.
“What should I do?” she whispers, as if he’s standing
right on the other side of the door rather than down a flight of stairs and outside in the parking lot.
I shrug.
“Let him up, I guess. You need to talk to him at some point. But I suggest you put some clothes on,” I offer with a lascivious grin.
She rolls her eyes as she pushes the button again.
“Of course. Come on up, Mr. Pettit. Do you mind letting him in?” she asks, already trotting down the hallway to the bedroom.
“Uh…no, I guess not,” I reply, though she’s not listening. I open the door to find a face to match the voice.
Jonathan Pettit looks all pinched and squinty as he comes inside and accepts my outstretched hand.
“Mr. O’Halloran, I presume?”
“What? Oh no, no.” I lean in a little closer and lower my voice. “Actually, Hennessy O’Halloran is a she,” I inform him. His eyes, formerly slits, now pop open wide, and he pushes his large glasses up on his nose.
“Oh my! Well I hope I didn’t offend the lady,” he says, wringing his hands nervously.
“No, no. I made the same mistake when I first met her, too,” I tell him as I guide him to the kitchen table. “I’m Bryan Truitt, Hennessy’s…uh…friend. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Please. Just black, thank you,” he sniffs and takes a seat at the table.
“Sorry. I know it looks as if we’re just getting up…and we are…but it was a late night. They had a pub quiz last night to bring in some extra cash, you see.”
