He reached for a shot, then paused. "Do paper towels count?"
I scooted it closer to him on the coffee table. "Nope, not what I asked."
"Serves the same purpose,” he argued.
"Drink." Helping, I placed the shot in his hand—huh.
When had we moved into the same space? Our forearms were pressed together, and it would be so easy to rest my head on a firm shoulder or swing a leg over his lap… I put some distance between us, even if I couldn’t quite remember why I needed to.
"Pillowcases." I threw out, running out of guesses. “Seriously?” I stared in horror as he downed the shot. “You don’t have pillowcases?”
“I have a few!”
“But not enough that all your pillows are covered at the same time?”
"You know what?” Chase grabbed a shot and tilted it towards me. “You drink too."
"I was right!"
"You’re judging me. You judge, you drink."
Opening my mouth to argue about his silly rule, I realized I’d only be arguing myself out of more alcohol. The last of the rum burned my throat, making my voice hoarse. “We need another bottle.”
“Or we’ve had enough for one night.”
Boo. That idea sucked.
I handed Chase my empty shot glass and he pushed my hand away. I tried again and he still refused to accept it, so we ended up shoving at each other and playing hot potato wrong since he refused to actually grab the glass. He swatted my hand away, then tried to shove me away all together, but I dodged him, thrusting the shot glass into his chest. I pinned it there, grinning in victory, and I fell forward when Chase tilted back.
The glass slipped from my fingers, which left my hand splayed over his solid chest. He moved to steady me, so his hand rested against my lower back. Our faces were so close together…
Bam!
A loud noise from outside these walls broke the moment. I jumped away from the sound and Chase, heart pounding furiously. “What was that?”
"Nothing. Just some neighbors."
A bark of laughter and heavy, stumbling footfalls reached my ears. Neighbors. Of course. Nothing to be afraid of.
"Chase, it was an accident, right?” I whispered. “At the gas station."
"What else would it be?"
"I don’t know… it felt personal in the moment."
"Is there any reason you’d be targeted? Any valuables, enemies, persistent exes?” he listed possible motives so casually and then chuckled at my expression. “Don’t look so freaked out. I’m a detective, remember?"
"Right. So, in your expert opinion?"
"Nobody is an expert after the amount of drinks I had, but honestly? There’s probably nothing to worry about."
"Good... I’m not sure if I can survive anything worse."
"Hey, whatever happens, you’ll be alright.” He placed a hand on my thigh, drawing my attention. “I’ll make sure you’re okay."
"You don’t even know me."
"None of tonight was exactly by the book, but I am good at what I do. And if somebody did nearly torch us? Then I take that personally. I’m involved now.” Despite the alcohol, he looked sober and serious. “Which means we’re in this together.”
