Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men #1)(52)

I blurted out a hard laugh. Yeah, a stiff drink sounded perfect right about now.

“Sure. Hold on.” I pushed to my feet and left him on the sofa. I needed a little space from him anyway before I slapped him silly.

In the kitchenette, I opened the top cupboard and stretched up onto my toes to reach the only bottle of alcohol I had in the place. After filling a crystal cup with ice, I poured a healthy shot and carried both the glass and bottle to the couch.

“Here.”

Relief crossed his face. “Thanks.” He downed the drink whole, only to sit upright, nearly spitting it out as he coughed and sputtered. “God.” He grimaced and scraped the surface of his tongue against the bottom of his top teeth, wiping off the remaining flavor. “What was that? Tequila?”

Shocked he didn’t know his liquors, I gaped. “No. It was gin.” How could anyone not recognize the taste or smell of gin?

“Blech. Tasted like Pine-Sol.”

Umm…Yeah. Duh.

He gave a sudden laugh. “I just meant water when I asked for a drink, you know.”

“Oops.” I shrugged.

He shrugged too.

“Oh, well. This’ll do too.” He reached out and snagged the bottle from my hand to pour himself another shot. He merely shivered in revulsion with his next swallow. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He cast me an arched-eyebrow glance. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a gin drinker.”

“I’m not. It was in the cabinet when I moved in. Must be my aunt and uncle’s.”

He snorted, pouring himself more. “Nice way to tempt their underage, college-student niece into staying sober.” Hissing through his teeth after shot number three, he looked at me from slightly watered eyes.

I grinned because his reaction was so darn cute. “Let me guess. You’re not a big drinker.”

Mason shook his head before taking a deep, bracing breath and downing number four. A green tinge touched his cheeks, but he swallowed again and kept everything down only to flash clenched teeth.

“Well, newbie. If you keep shooting them that fast, you’re going to be sicker than a dog.”

He eyed me, considering it. “But I’ll be drunk?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Good.” He slammed number five without a wince.

I had to admit; I was a little impressed. The boy was a fast learner. That or the Pine-Sol had already numbed his taste buds.

Two gulps later, I intercepted shot number eight, tugging the bottle out of his hand before he could pour. “Trust me, honey. That did the trick.”

He blinked at me, swaying a little. “Are you sure? I don’t feel—”

“Oh, you will, just as soon as the alcohol hits your bloodstream.”

“Good.”

When he nodded, trusting my word implicitly, I had to ask. “Now, why are we getting rip-roaring drunk again? Because of the almost-getting-caught thing or because I called your plan stupid?”

“It’s not stupid.” He scowled before adding, “And I’m getting drunk,” he jabbed a finger into his sternum, “because of earlier tonight. You’re staying sober to take care of me.”

“I am?” This was news to me. When I lifted my eyebrows, letting him know he should probably revise that last statement to sound a little more pleading and a lot less demanding, he merely sent me a sweet, goofy grin.

“Come on, Reese. Please. I just want to forget this evening ever happened. Forget what I am, forget who I am…who I…”

His words trailed off as his attention strayed to the frozen image on my television screen. “Hey, what movie is this?” Spotting my popcorn bowl, he snagged it off the coffee table, settled it into his lap and began to eat. Then he plopped his feet up on my coffee table.

Yeah, I think the alcohol was beginning to kick in.

Sighing, I slumped, defeated, onto the sofa beside him. Apparently, we would be watching movies together tonight while I babysat his cute, drunk ass.

Man, I was whipped.

A part of me realized I had to be the stupidest idiot ever to allow him to stick around. I was pretty much welcoming heartbreak. But another part of me said I was doing it for the security. Knowing Jeremy was actively pursuing me had me spooked. Even a drunkard in the house made me feel better.

But secretly, I was mostly just tickled he’d come to me—and no one else—to get drunk on and tell his personal, most private feelings to. I actually felt honored to babysit him.

“You might get a kick out of this movie,” I said, relieved for a conversation changer. “I was just starting a Harry Potter marathon when you knocked on my door.”

He perked up. “Really? Harry Potter?”

“Yep. I’m halfway through the first one, but I can start over if you want.”

“Yeah. That sounds great. I haven’t seen the movies either.”

Scrounging up the remote, I shook my head. “That’s so insane. I can’t believe you haven’t seen the movies or read the books. You’re like…un-American, or something.”

He cocked me a confused look. “How can it be un-American? I thought they were written by a British author.”

I sighed. He would remember that, wouldn’t he? “Well, then, you’re un…earthling.”

He laughed and tossed a kernel into the air in an attempt to catch it with his mouth. But he totally missed and the piece of popcorn bounced off his nose. So I had to laugh too.