“I found one of the best movies of all time.” She holds out her glass for me to refill. She’s practically giddy as the film comes back on. “You’re in for a treat.”
“Should I be scared?” Or more accurately, will I be bored? The screen fills with characters from another time period. Their English accents are thick and I attempt to follow their conversation without losing interest.
“Only if you hate the best book-to-film adaptation of a classic.”
“Oh, God,” I groan, remembering the show my sister would not shut up about. “Is thisBridgerton?”
“No.” Rosalie frowns. “This isPride and Prejudice. The 2005 version.”
“There’s more than one version of this crap?”
“Crap?” Rosalie turns an accusing glare my way. “Crap?”
I chuckle at the offense I’ve caused. I love riling her up. It’s not easy to get under her skin, but I manage to do it regularly. I motion to the screen. “Who’s Darcy? And what’s with the long stares?”
“Long stares are fundamental.”
I’m going to need to drink this entire bottle of wine to survive this. “We should turn this into a drinking game.”
“A drinking game?”
“Yes, a drinking game is a social activity in which both parties consume alcohol based on a series of conditions.”
“I know what a drinking game is, Jackson.” She says dryly. “What are the rules?”
I’m surprised she doesn’t immediately shoot down my idea. My body thrills at the idea of getting drunk with Rosalie. The last time . . . I shake off that train of thought. I won’t get lucky tonight. Still, it’ll be fun to see her let loose. I think she needs that. I push to my feet and head back into the kitchen. “We drink when they stare?”
“That’s preposterous. We’ll be drunk before the first half of the movie is over.” She calls after me, “Where are you going?”
“So, you admit there’s a disproportionate number of longing stares!” I shout over my shoulder. Inside the cabinet, I retrieve two shot glasses and a half-empty bottle of tequila. If we’re doing this, we need to do this properly. You can’t play a drinking game with wine.
“I think they longingly stare the perfect amount,” Rosalie says, as I return. “Oh, wow.”
“I take my drinking games seriously.” I set down the two shot glasses and sit closer to her this time.
“We drink each time someone says, ‘Mr. Darcy.’ Darcy alone doesn’t count.”
“Deal.” I nod, filling the glasses so we’re ready. “What about when they kiss?”
“Drink.” She stares at the screen. “And when their hands touch, it’s a drink, too.”
“When their hands touch?” I guffaw, but when she doesn’t join in my laughter, I sit up straighter. “Wait. You’re serious.”
“Of course I am.”
“Fucking hell,” I groan. The movie comes back on. “They don’t fuck in this, do they?”
“Shush.”
“Did you just shush me?”
“I sure did,” she whispers. “This is a fucking classic. Lock in or get out.”
“Okay, then.” I focus on the movie. This might not be my cup of tea, but if Rosalie enjoys the film so much, it must holdsomemerit. If anything, it’s another clue to getting to know her better.
9
ROSALIE
