“Is there a chance—Is that why you were packing your SUV earlier?”
“I don’t chase at night, Mac. It’s dangerous. Rick and I are watching developments, preparing just in case. But this system… One can never be certain, but conditions are not really favorable for tornado formation. Doesn’t mean we won’t see a few crazy intense storms come through, though.”
“Great.”
She moved around him into the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. “Wow. Somebody had a party in here.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, a look of mock disappointment twisting her face. “I’m hurt I wasn’t invited.”
Even though she was making light of it, embarrassment burned his skin. He’d lost control. Again.
She seemed to sense his discomfort because she turned to face him. “Mac!” she said in a commanding tone that compelled his head up instantly. The intense way she regarded him took him aback.
“It’s okay to be angry. Do not feel bad about it.” She held his gaze for a moment, then returned to the broken glass and beer. “I’m going to get this cleaned up.”
“I’ll get it.”
Without comment, she handed him the broom, and he got to sweeping.
She left the room for a few moments and returned with an armful of towels. “I’ll put these in the wash after we wipe all the glorious beer you wasted off the wall and floor.”
Mac felt the first tugs of a smile. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the laundry room next to the kitchen, folded her arms, and said, “Now what do we do?”
Tapping a finger to her lips, she surveyed the room. “You know what?” she muttered, then squatted and opened a cabinet door. “Aha! Yeah.”
She held up a bottle of vodka. “What do you say, handsome? Want to get smashed?”
His eyebrows flew to his scalp. “Seriously?”
“Hell, why not?”
When was the last time he’d gotten a really good drunk on? It had been a damn hell of a week. “I believe in the fridge Lance has lemonade he made for Skylar.”
Her eyes rounded. “Was it homemade?”
“I…think so.”
She started glancing around like a madwoman. What was she looking for?
“Hell, yes!” she exclaimed as she put the Vodka bottle down and came back with a lemon in each hand. “Ever had a lemon drop?”
Shots? She wanted to do shots? “Years ago. Like, culinary school years ago.”
“Ever played Never Have I Ever?”
A drinking game? “Again, years ago.”
“Wanna?” A playful twinkle lit up her eyes that he couldn’t resist.
“Shit,” he muttered with a defeated laugh. He was going to fucking regret this.
“Awesome!”
She went to work gathering everything, and within a few minutes she had two shot glasses, a plate of lemon wedges coated in sugar, and the bottle of vodka sitting out on the counter. She’d also put her iPhone on the deck, and fun, upbeat dance music drowned out the noises from outside.
She poured the glasses full of the liquor, and asked, “Do you remember the rules?”
“Refresh my memory.”
“I say something I’ve never done, and if you’ve never done it you don’t have to drink, but I do. If you have…bottoms up.”
“Ladies first.”
She leaned forward, a mischievous look coming to her face. “Never have I ever fought in a cage.”
A shocked laugh burst out of him. He shook his head and reached for the shot, eying her over the rim. “You play dirty.”
She leaned back, smiling with pleasure. “Thank you.”
He tossed the drink back, then bit into a lemon wedge. “Never have I ever gone to a traditional university.”
Giving a nod of reluctant approval, she took her shot. “Now that we have the gimmes out of the way, let’s make this interesting.” She leaned forward again. Resting her elbows on the counter, she laced her fingers together and studied him. “Hmm. Never have I ever…gone streaking.”
The random confession immediately brought a memory of him doing just that in his early twenties, drunk out of his mind. Ally had been horrified, but it was something they’d laughed over for years. A smile came to his lips now. The liquor burned on its way down.
“Never have I ever bungee jumped,” he countered.
Her nose scrunched as she lifted the tiny glass to her lip. Wow. The woman had bungee jumped. He shouldn’t be surprised. She raced tornadoes. They tossed a couple more never-have-I-evers at each other, where Gayle had to take both shots. Because, no, he had never gone to a bridal show, but she had entered a wet T-shirt contest. Crazy woman.
Eyes slightly glazed, she studied him silently for a long moment, then inhaled deeply. “Never have I ever gone on vacation somewhere tropical.”
His honeymoon. Two full weeks on the sandy beaches of Aruba. At the memory, warmth filled his chest. As he focused on Gayle, he almost laughed. She was swaying slightly in her seat. He tossed back the shot.
“Never have I ever been interested in weather.” Poor woman was two shots up on him.