It still does, which is stupid of me to think, I know. I want a relationship with Sam, and he’s interested in one thing and one thing only.
“If we’re all here like this, there’s no way Mom will let us have dinner and then not play a game.” Sam sets the games on the coffee table and sits on the couch, patting the cushion next to me. Rory takes Adam outside to find Dean, who was finishing up helping their dad fix a fence, and I cross the living room to take a seat next to Sam.
Mason gets there first and plops down in the middle of the couch. “Want to be on my team?” he asks me.
“I, um, I…sure.” Sitting next to Mason, I look at the games on the table. “What are we playing?”
“I don’t care as long as we make it a drinking game,” Mason says.
“How do you make Clue a drinking game?”
Mason picks up the game and turns it over, reading the back. “You can make everything a drinking game. Candyland is a good one. Take a shot whenever you pass over one of those squares that has a candy on them. Sip a drink when you get a double-square card.”
“You sound like you’ve played a lot,” I laugh.
“It’s been a while. Speaking of drinking, want to try the obscure flavors of whiskey?”
“Yeah, I’m kind of curious, though peanut butter whiskey still sounds disgusting.”
Mason nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“I’m open to trying just about anything once. I’ve discovered I’ve enjoyed quite a few things I thought I wouldn’t otherwise like that way.”
“I’m sure you have.” Mason stands and holds out his hand, helping me up off the couch.
“Sam, you coming?” I ask.
“Nah, he’s lame,” Mason rushes out and ushers me out of the room. The whiskey is already out on the counter along with two shot glasses. Mason pours a little bit of the peanut butter whiskey in my shot glass and fills his up.
“To old friends,” he says, holding up the shot glass.
“To old friends,” I echo. Sam walks into the kitchen, coming up behind me. Mason moves closer, looks into my eyes, and flashes a flirty smirk.
“And to trying new things…things you wouldn’t have before.”Chapter NineteenSamThe little shit was serious.
He’s putting the moves on Chloe, right in fucking front of me. She looks a little confused as she taps her shot glass against his, and gags when she tosses the whiskey back. She and Mason both burst out laughing, and Chloe waves her hand in front of her face.
“That’s terrible! Oh my god!” She’s still laughing and turns around to go to the sink. She rinses her shot glass and fills it with water, taking a drink.
“Now that we’ve gotten the worst out of the way, try this one.” Mason unscrews the lid to a bottle of peach vodka.
“It’s probably not a good idea to be mixing types of alcohol like that,” I say.
“Told you he’s lame,” Mason huffs, and I glare at him, still in disbelief he’s hitting on Chloe. It was an unspoken rule between the three of us that we never made moves on a chick one of us liked.
“He’s right.” Chloe’s eyes go to mine. “I shouldn’t mix booze like this, and I had wine with dinner. I don’t want to get drunk or feel sick or anything.”
Mason puts his hand on top of hers. “Hey, if that happened, you know I’d take care of you.” That’s it. He crossed a line. I storm over, ready to put a stop to whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing.
The garage door opens and the rest of the family comes in.
“You’re drinking without me?” Dean asks and looks at the choices of alcohol on the counter. “Never mind.”
“I tried the peanut butter whiskey,” Chloe says. “Jacob was right. That strong rum was much better.”
“I could get that,” Mason offers, and Chloe shakes her head.
“I’ll pass for now and will stick to water. Or kombucha tea, but I’m guessing you’re all out.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“It’s fermented tea that’s supposed to be good for you.” She shrugs. “I don’t think any of the health benefits have been proven yet, but I swear I’ve been healthier since I started drinking it. I used to get a cold every few months, and I haven’t been sick since December. That’s a record for me.”
“You’re not going to counter that with medical facts?” Mason looks at me.
“I don’t see an issue with drinking tea daily,” I say, and Chloe and I both move closer to each other. It’s instinctual for me to be near to her. “But tell me your essential oils work better than modern medicine and we might have an issue.”
Chloe laughs. “I have a few friends who would argue that. All with peer-reviewed articles to back up their claims, and by that, I mean viral Facebook posts.” Her eyes meet mine. “I can see how frustrating that would be for a doctor. I get annoyed enough when horses whinny and rear in movies. They don’t really do that.”