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A harsh laugh sounded. Right.
She was better off married to her studies and one day to her own research.
She found Roman’s alcohol supply in a cabinet in the living room. She supposed it was considered a mini-bar, but all she knew was that he had a truly impressive array of alcohol from all over the world.
Even some good old-fashioned Ukrainian potato vodka, distilled and bottled by an official distillery. She was sure there was a bottle of her papa’s efforts in there somewhere too, but that was too special to drink on a whim. Or without permission. She pulled the vodka with the black label out of the cabinet and poured a finger each in two highball glasses.
“Indulging in a nightcap, Professor?” Max asked from behind her.
She hadn’t heard him come in, but this just meant she didn’t have to go looking for him. Turning, with a glass in each hand, she extended one toward him. “Join me.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He eyed the drink like it was a snake set to strike.
Interesting. What did he have to be wary about?
“Sure it is. How can you turn down vodka distilled in the Ukraine?”
“Do you swear in Ukrainian like your brother?” he asked instead of answering.
“Sometimes.” Worried, she asked, “Do you not drink? Should I have not offered this to you?”
“I can hold my liquor just fine, but every soldiersucetter than to drink when he needs to keep his head.”
“Why do you need to keep your head?” Was he planning on going out?
“I’ve got five good reasons.”
“Care to share them?”
“Not really.”
She looked at her drink, then back to him, trying to understand his reticence, but respecting it. It might be time to go to Plan B, getting herself tipsy enough she wouldn’t care if he was slightly lubricated or not.
Then without warning, Max took the glass and slammed it back like a shot. He held his breath for a second and then let it out slowly. “Those Ukrainian moonshiners know their stuff.”
She giggled. Which she never did, and she hadn’t even had a drink yet, but she followed his example, swallowing against the burn of the strong grain alcohol. “Papa says his grandfather made some of the best potato vodka in the world. Good for your liver.”
Max gave that ultra-sexy laugh again. “Right. Does your father distill his own?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“You can tell me, I’ll keep your secrets.” He gave her a serious look, like he was making a promise.
But she wasn’t going to read anything into the words. She was done wearing those fantasy-inspired, rose-colored glasses.
She took his glass and turned back to the cabinet. “Like another?”
“I think one is enough. For both of us.”
“You do what you like, but I’m having another. If you don’t mind being outdrunk by five-feet-six inches of academia, that’s on you.”
She poured again, this time two fingers of the clear liquid, and then slammed it back.
Max made a sound that was suspiciously close to a growl and then he grabbed the bottle and poured his own double shot.
He grinned wildly at her. “Here’s to Ukrainian brainiacs and Marine grunts.”
She didn’t call him on the fact that he admitted to being a Marine and her brother was supposedly Army and yet they worked together. She simply nodded and gave him her own crazy smile. The alcohol was already hitting her.
