Page 16 of Grace on the Rocks

Eòghann turned to check them out and offered a low whistle. “Hardlysporting,” he murmured.

“Arrogant,” the word finally came to the tip ofBryan’stongue. “Rude.Shhharp-tongued.”

Teàrlach tsked. “Och, he’s considered her tongue.It’sworse than we thought.”

Suddenly,Bryanwished he had more food in front of him so he could enjoy the pleasure of throwing it at his cousins.

The two women squeezed onto one shared stool at the far end of the bar.

“Should we invite them over?”Eòghannasked, still staring.

“She’s far tooAmerican,”Bryanwent on. “Alsoa little mean.”Theydidn’t need to know he liked her sharpness.

“One more word, sir, andIshall have to challenge you to a duel,”Teàrlachteased in mock outrage. “Youdon’t know who she is, do you?”

“What do you mean?”Eòghannasked, tearing his eyes from the bar to look atTeàrlach, who grinned like aCheshirecat. “ShethePresident’sdaughter or something?”

“Better.She’sthe sister ofDiegoRios.”

Bryan’s mind went sort of blank, except forGrace’sdark, flashing eyes.It’sRios, actually.RiosRivera.OrjustRios.

“OurDiego?”Heasked it louder than he meant to.

Teàrlach nodded gleefully.Iheard about your book.I’mso proud of you,Gracie.

Rios.Rivera.

“You met at the wedding?”TheoneBryandidn’t have the bollocks to attend.

His cousin nodded again.

Christ.Thatwas damned inconvenient.Badenough to have anAmericanstaying with him, even worse to have trouble breathing around a tourist.Heabsolutely could not develop a schoolboy crush on his old friend’s little sister.

“Are you sure?” he asked, searching her out in the crowd once more, knowing without a doubtTeàrlachwas right.

Eòghann looked from one to the other. “Who’sDiegoRios?Oldboyfriend?”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “Oldfootballer,” he muttered, feeling extra shitty for summing up a nearly fifteen-year friendship in two words.

Eòghann gaveTeàrlacha look that saidBryanhadn’t answered the question.

“TheAmericanwho played forCeltic,”Teàrlachexplained. “Andthe only person with a crush on him wasmylittle sister.”

“Och, littleEilidh.Bless,”Eòghannsaid with a sympathetic frown and a hand to his chest.

“He’s back stateside now,”Teàrlachadded with a hint of melancholy.

Bryan shook his head like that would somehow clear it.

The footballer had knownTeàrlachfirst, before he was recruited toCeltic, but during theGlasgowyears, the three of them had morphed into a new set of musketeers.Nowwith five thousand miles and several time zones between them, they mostly followed each other on seldom-used socials and exchanged annual birthday texts.ButBryanstill kept up withDiego’scareer, and he absolutely could not touch the man’s little sister.Notthat he wanted to.

He slapped the table to punctuate that thought and drained the rest of his beer.

“Keep going like that, we’ll be sopping you off the karaoke stage,”Eòghannteased.

“I do feel like having a go,” he announced.Itwasn’t true, but before they’d started teasing him aboutGrace, who he was absolutely, one hundred percent not interested in, he’d felt almost cheerful.Maybeit was only the stout talking, but perhaps a song could recapture that feeling. “Reckonthey’ve got anyDonovan?”

“Hell, sing it acapella if they haven’t,”Eòghannegged him on while he could swearTeàrlachslid a little lower in his chair, trying to hide from the impending embarrassment.

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