“Nothing is going to happen, Bee. We are good here, I promise.”
Theo joins us in their foyer, carrying a large, insulated bag I recognize from either Summit House or Black Diamond. “Full of food for you and your guests. Can you strap it on to the back of your ride?”
“Easily,” I smile, and heft it out the door to do so. As soon as it is secure, I wave goodbye to them, and watch as Theo wraps himself around my brother, and Matt pulls him close.
I might take the long way to get back home, but surely no one is out in this icy mess to notice.
When I do get back, the house is quiet, so if I am lucky, I missed seeing Cas all sweaty and post-run. My mind can do a good enough job of filling in that picture.
I make quick work of making sure the snowmobile is accessible in an emergency and putting up Theo’s care package. Now to figure out what’s next.
There’s a few things a snow-in is always good for: sleeping, songwriting, making love, and day-drinking. Only one of those should be anywhere near my agenda today.
Just as I finish up in the kitchen, Cas appears, his hand wrapped around a bottle, and two crystal shot glasses hanging from his long fingers.
Apparently, he’s chosen day-drinking.
“Come on,” he urges me to the living room, and we sprawl out on my thick rug in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Even with the fire going and the heat on, I can still feel the cold seep in a bit from the wall of glass.
“What are we doing, exactly?”
He holds up a bottle I vaguely recognize. “Don Julio Real. Someone gave this to me for my last number one single, but since you wrote that song — let’s share.”
Well, fuck. I guess we are going to discuss the elephant in the room today. I nod, thinking about the strong Irish coffee from earlier. But that’s fine, I’m bigger than Cas. Surely I can hold my own with a little tequila.
He pours us each a shot, then another.
“No chaser?” I wheeze. I mean, this is good stuff, but damn.
“I have limes.” He holds up a bowl I hadn’t noticed before.
“Alright, good enough.”
He pours us one more, with a lime this time. At least he sits down the bottle afterwards.
“So, lines you wish you wrote.”
“What?” I pull big pillows off the couch and throw a few his way as I make myself comfortable leaning against the side of the couch and looking out to the snow.
“Nope, hold on,” he says, standing up and walking over to the wet bar in the living room and rummaging around. I hope whatever he brings over here doesn’t have alcohol because I’m already buzzed.
“That’s too easy,” he hands me water and I gratefully take it. “Songsyou wish you wrote. No cherry picking, has to be the whole thing.”
I groan, adding a bit more to the groan when he starts to pour another round of shots.
“And why are we doing this?”
Cas smiles a heart-stopping smile and he’s going to have to cut that shit out if I am getting drunk with him. That smile has gotten me into bed with him more than once, and a few bathroom stalls, too. Time has done nothing to dilute its potency, either.
Danger signs are flashing, red lights and red flags all over he and I doing this. I already know that Cas staying here doesn’t end well for me.
Butthis. . .all the easy touches and sexy smiles and just the way Cas folds himself back into my life is a scorched earth policy on my heart.
“We,” he says, pushing the shot across the coffee table that separates us, “are catching up with each other. Talking about music.”
And that needs top-shelf tequila for both of us, but it remains unsaid.
“You first,” I say, sticking the overstuffed pillow beneath my head. “Songs you wished you had sung.”
