Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

One of the longtime bartenders, Violet, patted his shoulder. “You are damn good for the tip jar, dude.”

“My pleasure. Think you can handle last call without me?”

“Sure. You’ve pulled your weight tonight.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed a fifth of Jack and two lowball glasses. “Go ahead and lock up when you’re done. Gypsy and I will turn off the lights when we leave.”

“You got it.”

Wyatt headed toward the back room, where Gypsy had disappeared two hours before. She’d spent the better part of the evening interviewing all six candidates Aaron had pulled together at Wyatt’s request. But she and Wyatt hadn’t been able to do more than glance at each other through the crowd all night.

He used the bottle to tap on the office door before opening it. Gypsy sat at her desk, hands holding her head up, her gaze on the pages of some type of ledger.

She looked up and gave him a tired smile. “Hey.” She glanced at the clock on her desk. “That time already, huh?”

He closed and locked the door, then moved toward her, his body fatigued. “Didn’t feel like it went by all that fast to me.”

She swiveled in her chair to face Wyatt. He planted his free hand on the arm of the chair and leaned down to kiss her. She was smiling when his lips touched hers. Their kiss turned heated in seconds. He tasted her slowly, groaning at the sweetness of pure Gypsy.

She put a hand against his chest and rolled her chair backward, breaking the kiss. Her lids were heavy as she licked her lips, as if she liked the taste of him just as much. “You’re a dangerous man, Jackson.”

He straightened, offering his hand. “Never been called that before.”

She let him pull her to her feet and followed him to the sofa. He dropped into the corner, landing in a partially reclined position, and pulled her down with him. She fell against his chest and sighed. For a long moment, they lay like that, her head on his chest, his arm around her back, whiskey and glasses hanging from one hand.

He kissed her hair. “This is way more comfortable than the bed of my truck.”

She laughed, just a little chuckle that turned into a giggle that made Wyatt laugh along with her.

Gypsy sat back and took the whiskey bottle from Wyatt. She poured two fingers in each glass, settling the bottle on the floor before taking one of the glasses from Wyatt. “Let’s toast to me finding a manager.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened. “You chose someone?”

“I did, and she said yes. Brandy Mason. I was just looking at the books, trying to figure out how and when to hand things over to her.”

Wyatt grinned and lifted his glass. “To a successful day.”

They clinked, and while Gypsy sipped, Wyatt shot his back.

“Well,” he said, setting his glass on the floor, “mostly. I tried calling the number on Francie’s cell phone bill for her parents. The line was disconnected.”

“Damn.”

Wyatt sh

rugged. “I knew it was a long shot.”

The noise in the bar quieted as customers moved on to their next destination.

“I really appreciate you getting those names for me and for bartending tonight,” she told him. “I got so much done, and I feel like the vise I’ve been in for so long is finally easing.”

“You also made a shit ton of money. This place was packed to the rafters.” He set his glass on the floor beside the whiskey. “I’m too old for this bartending shit.”

“You can perform on stage in front of thousands for days on end, and you think bartending for a night is tough?”

“Don’t forget keeping a miniature human alive twenty-four seven. That’s the stuff that’ll kill you.”

“Have you talked to your parents yet?”