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Lake waved his hand dismissively and focused on the array of alcohol on the counter. “Never mind. If it kills you, it will be totally worth it.”
Grady blinked. Well. That wasn’t worrying at all.
Lake lined up four different bottles of rum, a bottle of Cointreau, some pineapple and lime juice, some kind of syrup, and an ice tray from the freezer. Grady wasn’t sure what he was most concerned about: that all these ingredients were eveninthe house or that Lake was clearly going to mix them all together and then make Grady drink it.
“What is it?”
“Well, there should be some bitters, so it might not work, but it’s called the ‘Zombie,’ and it’s guaranteed to fuck you up.” Lake smiled again—Grady wished he wouldn’t, smiling this much couldn’t be natural—and then said, “That’s what we’re after, right? Fucking up? It’s not as fun as the naked kind, but it’ll do in a pinch.”
“Are you propositioning me?” Grady asked, squinting. He honestly couldn’t tell, which was worrisome. Normally, he was pretty good at working out if he was being seriously flirted with or not. And hell, if this guy wanted to fuck in a spare room, Grady wasn’t about to say no.
“I’m not gay,” Lake said easily. “But hey, take it how you want.” Another wink.
Grady sighed and rolled his eyes. At least that answered that question, he supposed. Alcohol was a good runner-up for sex.
Lake stirred his abomination with a spoon and then handed it over with a beaming smile. “Bon appétit.”
“That’s for food.” Grady took the glass warily.
Lake tapped a finger against his heart-shaped lips. “Bottoms up?”
Grady shouldn’t have said anything. He took a tentative sip, waiting for the horrid taste to hit his tongue. He hoped it was a quick and painless death. A refreshing hit of pineapple hit first, followed by just a hint of grapefruit before the alcohol exploded across his taste buds. It was actually not bad. It wasn’t like the whiskey he had at home, but it wasn’t anything to sneeze at. He could work with it. There was enough alcohol in there; he wouldn’t need to drink much anyway.
“You’re not much of a partier, are you?” Lake asked, watching as Grady took another sip, a longer one this time. He was getting used to the “kick you in the balls” flavour.
“What gave me away?” Grady asked. He hadn’t been trying to hide it. It shouldn’t have taken that long to work it out. Lucky Lake was pretty, he supposed.
“You’ve got the whole”—he gestured at all of Grady—“broody thing going on. Glower, check. Drinking excessively, check—”
Grady scowled. “That’s not a characteristic for broodiness—”
“Scruffy beard, check. Dark-olive eyes, check.” Lake kept making tick marks in the air as he went, his leather-beaded bracelet jingling against his wrist.
Grady contemplated throwing his drink over Lake. A waste of perfectly good alcohol, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. There was plenty more where it came from. It was like the witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel, except that instead of candy, everything was made of spirits.
“How is the colour of my eyes a factor?” Grady asked reluctantly. The entire conversation was ridiculous, but he also needed to know where these criteria had come from, or if Lake had pulled them out of his ass.
Lake continued as though Grady hadn’t said anything. “Bed hair, check. Dangerous vibe, check.”
At least that one was reasonable. “Are you done?”
“Not yet,” Lake said, fishing out his phone. “Let me Google it.”
“I’d love to know what you’re going to put in your search,” Grady said, sipping at his drink again.
“How can you tell,” Lake said out loud as he typed on his phone, “if a guy is broody?” He paused. “Oh.Whoops. There are a lot of baby websites here. They think I mean broody, like ‘ready for kids.’ Google needs a context bar.”
“Please put the phone away,” Grady said, making a pained face. He took another long drink because he really needed this stuff to hit his system, preferablybeforeLake had started talking.
“Probably for the best,” Lake agreed, nodding as he slid it back into his pocket.
There was no “probably” about it.
“One minute!” Another shout came from the living room. Grady drained the rest of his drink and pulled out his phone so he could organise an Uber. Maybe they’d be waiting before he even got outside, and it could be a smooth transition home. He could feel the drink doing its job finally, fuzziness gradually invading his mind and making his limbs feel relaxed.
“Shit,” Lake said, frowning. He moved to the doorway that led to the living room, craning his neck as he searched the room, one hand curled around the doorframe.
“Are you all right?” Grady asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
