Page 105 of If All Else Sails
I don’t think it’s just the loss of his uncle or his injury that sent Wyatt to live in the town of Wallowland, population one. There are still little mysteries about him I need to solve. Like what the deal is with his father and brother. And what the blueprints on his kitchen table are.
I ache to ask nosy questions, to drill down below the surface, but the look on his face makes me feel like this might just be poking a bruise.
Or a bear.
Plus, how fair is it for me to press him with questions when I keep skirting my own vulnerability at every turn?
“Are you a betting man?” I ask.
“No.”
“Tonight maybe you’ll make an exception.” I point to the TV. “In this show, they look at three houses. We each bet on the one we think they’ll pick.”
“I haven’t even been watching,” Wyatt says.
“Neither have I. You can pick first. They’re about to do a recap of all three. Then there will be a commercial, and then the reveal.”
He starts to argue again, and I shush him. He frowns but watches like a good boy as the couple discuss the merits and the downsides of each property over glasses of pinot. When the show cuts to commercial, I turn back to Wyatt.
“Well?” I ask, poking him in the arm. “What’s your pick?”
“I still don’t have enough data.”
“That’s all the data we’re going to get,” I tell him.
“What are the stakes for this bet, Rookie?”
“Not money,” I say quickly. “I can’t compete there. How about a truth?”
“A truth?” he repeats.
“Whoever wins can ask the other person a question that they have to answer truthfully.” His frown deepens, harsh lines bracketing his mouth. I poke him again. It’s only partly because I like the way his muscles feel under my fingertip. “Come on. I won’t be too invasive with my question when I win.”
His eyes narrow, but even so, I can see the spark in them.
I bite back a grin. Iknewthis would get him. Maybe I haven’t seen him on the ice, but I’ve heard enough about his drive.
And I know this much about athletes: Competition is their catnip. So here I am, dangling it right in front of him.Here, kitty kitty!
“Fine,” Wyatt says. “Winner gets one truth.”
“Per episode.”
“How many of these can we watch?” He sounds astounded.
I shrug. “We’ll see. You bet first. I have the advantage because I watch this show more than you do.” I hold up both hands when he assesses me. “I haven’t seen this episode though. I’m no cheat.”
The show comes back from commercials.
“We’ve got about ninety seconds,” I tell him. “They’ll summarize one more time while pretending to debate. In or out, Jacobs.”
“In,” he says, sitting up a little straighter and giving the television his full attention.
Why is this so attractive?
When they’re done summarizing, I turn to Wyatt with my brows raised. “So, which house?”
“If I were choosing forme, I’d go with option one,” he says. “Good views but far enough off the beach it won’t be wiped outby a hurricane. It’s fine as is but could use some fixing up. Good bones.”
