“Besides, I like that you’ll owe me one,” she whispered.
An inferno of edgy need gripped him. Yeah, he’d owe her one and he couldn’t wait to pay up. Still, he considered remaining with her in case an arbitrator was needed, but then it occurred to him that maybe she wanted some female bonding time. There was woman stuff that guys weren’t supposed to be privy to—maybe wedding decorations were one of those things—what the hell did he know? Plus, this gave him an opportunity for a one-on-one conversation with Marc, something he’d never had with any of her brothers. From what he could tell, they always traveled in a pack. Like rabid dogs. Maybe if it was just the two of them, he’d make some progress. Jess with the women and him with Marc…maybe they could divide and conquer. It certainly was worth a shot. Then he’d get her alone. And naked. And put out this damn fire eating at him.
He stood, picked up his beer then leaned down to drop a kiss on Jess’s curly, honey-colored hair. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”
He approached Marc with all the enthusiasm he would a coiled cobra. After sliding onto the empty stool next to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, he waited for Marc to acknowledge his presence, but his brother-in-law-to-be’s gaze never shifted from the hockey game flickering on the TV. Hockey—just another strike against Eric in the Hayden brothers’ eyes. They were all die-hard hockey—and football—fanatics while Eric preferred basketball and baseball. And tennis—which really didn’t help his cause as the Hayden brothers all thought tennis was wimpy. Obviously none of them had ever played a grueling three-hour, three-set match.
Eric finally nodded toward the TV and asked, “What’s the score?”
“Rangers are up, three to one.”
Then more silence. Not a real chatty guy, Marc. Before Eric could think of another conversation opener, the bartender, who wore a Santa hat and a friendly smile, approached. “You need another beer?” he asked, eyeing Eric’s nearly empty bottle.
Eric did a double take, then glanced toward the reception area where he spotted Roland Krause chatting with a guest. “Sure, thanks. For a second there I thought you were Roland. Are you related?”
The man grinned. “We’re cousins. Everyone thinks we’re brothers.” He extended his hand. “I’m Steve. Steve Howell. Roland and I may look alike, but under my Santa hat, I have a lot more hair than he does.”
After Steve had brought the beer and moved off toward the other end of the bar, Eric watched the game for a few minutes while another long silence stretched between him and Marc. Well, it was one way to avoid an argument—don’t talk. At least the guy was scowling at the TV instead of at him.
Just then he felt the weight of Marc’s stare. When he turned to look at him, Marc was—no big shocker—scowling.
“My sister doesn’t look happy,” Marc said.
Eric’s head turned so fast toward the table where Jess sat he practically heard his muscles snap. She was taking a sip of her wine and seemed fine.
“I don’t mean right this second,” Marc clarified. “I mean in general.”
Eric turned back toward him. “Based on your tone it’s obvious you think that’s my fault.”
“Who else’s would it be?”
“You want a mirror?”
Eric wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Marc’s scowl deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I’m not the one making her unhappy. You and your family and the nonstop arguing are what’s making her miserable.”
“I guess it’s missed your notice that you are what all the arguments are about.”
A humorless sound escaped Eric. “Uh, no. I haven’t missed that. You’ve all made that perfectly clear. Listen, I get the whole overprotective-brother thing. I’ve given more than a few guys the evil eye for sniffing around my sisters. But once Chloe and Lara found the men they wanted to marry, I was happy for them. They both chose good, decent guys. Believe it or not, I’m a good, decent guy.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah, says me. And says your sister. She’s extremely smart and savvy—hardly the sort of woman to marry a creep.”
“Smart women make stupid mistakes about men all the time.”
“Well, she’s not making one.”
Marc slowly swirled his tumbler of scotch, took a swig, then said, “Your franchise restaurant can’t compare to Hayden’s.”
Eric’s fingers tightened on his beer bottle, but he swallowed his irritation. “They’re both good places and Marble Falls is certainly big enough for more than one restaurant.”