Twenty-Eight
It Was a Whiskey Sour
Beck
After I stack my winnings, I gather up the cards and let my hands do what they do best. The cards flow between my fingers in perfect arcs, making that soft whisking sound as they cascade together. I do a bridge shuffle, letting the cards waterfall in a controlled stream, then split the deck and weave them back together with a rhythmic flick-flick-flick.
“Show off,” Forest mutters, but he’s giving me a sly, sexy smile.
I don’t need to look down as the cards dance between my hands—riffle, bridge, cut, repeat. The sound is soothing, like rain on a roof. I glance at Forest and find that he’s still watching me with warm eyes. Sometimes I catch that look from Forest and I just know we could be more. I’m not supposed to have those thoughts, though. It’s against the rules.
Then again, he invited me tonight. It has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Denny puts on a hockey game on the giant screen above his fireplace, and Kenji comes back with a new set of cocktails.
“I shouldn’t really drink this,” Forest says. “I’ve had plenty.”
“You go ahead,” I offer. “It’s your birthday. I’ll be the sober driver.”
“Aw, Forest. I like this one.” Denny asks. “Can we keep him?”
If only, buddy.
Forest just smiles blandly.
“To Forest!” Kenji says, raising his cocktail in the air. “And many more trips around the sun.”
“Hear hear!” CJ says.
I dutifully raise the glass that Kenji has set down beside me. It’s rude not to take a sip after cheers. And it’s a tasty concoction. Kenji has used the sour mix from my kit to make some kind of elevated whiskey sour, I think.
But when I look over at Forest, he seems to have a different opinion. I watch his glass stop right under his nose. Something flickers across his face. Then he finally takes a sip, and the look on his face is pure revulsion.
Odd.
“What do you think?” Kenji asks.
Forest takes a shallow breath. “I need some air,” he says, pushing back from the table.
“What?” Big Bob looks up from his phone. “Dude, it’s like twenty degrees out there.”
“Just... need a minute.” Forest is already standing, one hand gripping the back of his chair. “I’ll be right back.” Forest gestures vaguely toward the sliding door that leads to Denny’s back deck. “Hot in here.”
It’s not hot in here. If anything, Denny keeps his place on the cool side.
Forest is already moving toward the door, leaving his jacket behind. Through the glass, I watch him step out onto the snow-covered deck in just his flannel shirt, his breath immediately visible in the frigid air.
The table goes quiet for a moment, everyone exchanging looks.
“That was weird,” Kenji mutters.
Yes, it was. My heart thumps with a warning that something is very wrong. So I head to the mudroom off the kitchen, grab both our jackets, and follow Forest outside.
I find him leaning up against the back of the house his arms crossed against the cold, breathing purposefully, as if trying to stay calm.
He glances up when I come out the door and I offer his jacket wordlessly. “Thanks.” He gives me a wary look. “Is there any world in which you turn around now and go back into the house?”
“Nope.”
