Fur Ball Fever

Chapter 35

The sauna's heat was vicious enough to peel the lining from the lungs. Nick sank onto the lowest bench, as far away from Sam as possible. Two minutes with his brother had shattered the therapeutic effect of a morning of brooding followed by two punishing hours in the gym. It was hard enough to wrap his brain around the fact that Gracie was no longer part of his life. He didn't need salt rubbed in the wound.

"Nice to have the place to ourselves," Sam said in an upbeat tone that set Nick's on edge.

Nick closed his eyes with a non-committal grunt, hoping to fend off more brotherly advice. Hell, he ought to be popping a bottle of champagne, toasting his success at nailing Oliver's ass to the wall. Instead, he was moping around a sauna, par-boiling himself in the company of a brother who wouldn't drop the subject of Grace Donnelly.

Undeterred, Sam resumed his lecture. "What were you thinking, letting her get away? You're as dumb as a sackload of hammers if you ask me."

"Don't recall asking." Nick flopped onto his back and flung one arm over his eyes. To distract Sam, he said, "I'm guessing you didn't win at the tables last night."

"On the contrary. Given your unfortunate circumstances, I didn't want to gloat, but I came out way ahead, and thanks for asking. Between what I won and my shadow partner's contribution, I bought Kinki yesterday. Good job I closed the deal before charges were laid."

"Who's your shadow partner?" Nick asked, not really giving a flying fuck.

Sam ducked the question. "I'm planning to place a wager on Murphy to win the Fur Ball. Hundred-to-one odds are nothing to sneeze at, especially with the kind of money that gets thrown around."

"Man, you should quit while you're ahead. Have you ever watched Murphy? There's a good reason the odds are high."

"I have faith in Gracie. You might give it a try."

Nick figured silence was the best response.

A beat or two later, Sam returned to the attack. "Want some advice?"

Nick opened his eyes, leveled his gaze at Sam. "Nope." He closed his eyes again.

A metallic clink followed by a hiss indicated Sam had sent icy water gushing into the pan of red-hot rocks. Seconds later, Nick struggled not to gasp as clouds of aromatic steam clogged his nostrils. To escape the choking fog, he rolled onto his stomach and willed rigid muscles to relax. The more he tried to loosen up, the more his muscles knotted. He refused to move or speak because Sam would interpret even the tiniest grunt as an opening.

Another minute ticked by with excruciating slowness. Nick's blood pressure climbed a notch. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled from the weight of his brother's troubled gaze. Resigned, he sat up, mopped his dripping face with a hand towel.

"You win. Fire away."

Sam wasted no time firing. "I'm worried about you."

Nick glowered. He wished Sam would sit the hell down instead of fiddling with the water control. "For the record," Nick said in a measured tone, "now that the initial shock has worn off, I feel fine. Relieved. Footloose. Fancy-free."

Sam bored in with those predatory tiger eyes. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

Perspiration trickled down Nick's chest. He spat out another lie in the hopes it would help him embrace the joys of freedom. "I'm going to give Sherri a call," he said, thinking of a singer he'd dated twice. No need to mention Sherri's prattle about the latest gossip, fashion trends, and chick flicks left him yawning.