“I drove her to some bookstore an hour away to get a fantasy book singed by the author,” Sam says. “And Jacob had to take her to a movie, and you…you were supposed to play Dungeons and Dragons with her but you never did, did you, you asshole?”

Mason shrugs. “I have suffered through that game a time or two.”

“Hey,” I interject. “It’s a fun game.”

“You’re the one who got her into it,” Mason says, slowly shaking his head. “I have you to blame for Rory making me be a girl in the last game, who wasn’t even allowed to play with my own tits.”

I let out a snort of laughter. “I agree with Sam. I do wonder how you’ve made it this far in life.”

Sam and Jacob laugh and thunder rumbles overhead. This storm just won’t end, but there’s something so peaceful about the constant low rumbling of the thunder and the steady pitter patter of the rain on the trees.

“Should I get the puzzles?” Jacob asks.

Sam looks at me and I nod. “Why not?” he says.

“And I’ll get the tequila,” Mason notes.

“I can’t do tequila shots,” I say with a quiver. “Not anymore. Give me a margarita and I’m fine, but straight tequila—nope. Get the whiskey instead.”

“You know you’re not supposed to do shots of whiskey, right? It’s for sipping.”

I shrug. “I’ve heard that. Vodka then? Rum? Hell, I’d do a shot of gin before tequila.”

Mason laughs. “What happened to make you not like tequila?”

“A book signing in Mexico last year. We were all doing shots and I went from I don’t feel anything to not remembering the rest of the night.” I look at Sam. “But I didn’t throw up. I wanted to in the morning, but my iron stomach held.”

“Showoff,” Sam says with a grin.

“I’ll get you whiskey, then,” Mason tells me.

“Not the peanut butter one,” I request, still grossed out by it.

“Want pumpkin spice instead?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not a basic bitch. I don’t do pumpkin spice. Though I need to add that there is nothing wrong with being basic. Just be nice and do what makes you happy.”

“I know what—or who—you like to do to make you happy,” Sam whisper-talks, pulling me into his lap.

“Ugh, I hate PDA,” Jacob grumbles, pulling the puzzles out of an antique cabinet next to the fireplace.

“Human PDA, you mean,” Mason says and stands from the loveseat. “If it were a cat or a dog or a sheep, you’d be fine with it, right?”

“You know that’s getting really fucking old,” Jacob rounds.

Sam kisses my neck and then we get up, going into the formal dining room to start our puzzle contest.

“For this to be a fair contest, don’t we need two of the same puzzle?” he asks.

“Yes,” Mason answers. “And it’s a good thing mom forgets what she’s already bought from a store when she does her late-night Amazon shopping.” He holds up two identical puzzles. A scene from an ice cream shop is on the front of the box, and I can tell right away a puzzle like this could take days.

“Seven-hundred and fifty pieces?” I look at Mason incredulously. “And you expect us to get this done in like an hour, while drinking?”

“Don’t worry, Chloe,” Jacob tells me. “Assuming you and Sam are on a team, you’re going to win. The puzzles Mason is used to are the big wooden ones Adam likes to play with.”

“Adam is way too young for puzzles,” Mason replies, talking about their nephew. “And that farmhouse puzzle you got him was surprisingly challenging for something geared for babies.”

“I need a shot already.” Sam shakes his head and pulls out a chair for me.

“Oh, we’re not sitting,” I tell him. “I need to be able to move around.” I shake my shoulders and Sam laughs. “I feel like we should do a warm-up or something. Run a lap around the yard and then do stretches so we don’t strain something.”

“The only thing we have to worry about straining is Mason’s brain,” Jacob says dryly, clearing having fun getting back at him for all the bestiality jokes. We open and set up the puzzles while Mason gets the booze, and we all start by downing a shot, and then Mason sets the timer.

“What’s our strategy?” I whisper to Sam.

“Find the edge pieces, and when we start getting a decent amount, I’ll sort them by color while you keep finding the rest.”

“Okay. We got this.”

“Go!” Mason shouts and the four of us scramble to start our puzzles. We find the majority of the edge pieces fairly quickly, and Sam starts to organize them by color, which seemed like a good idea at the time, but the entire left edge of the puzzle is purple and blue. When the fifteen-minute timer goes off, it’s hard to tell who’s the winner. Mason and Jacob separated the edge pieces first as well, and since we don’t want to stop and count how many pieces we each have pulled away from the rest of the puzzle, we all take another shot. It’s been several hours since I ate last, and I start feeling the alcohol pretty soon after the whiskey goes down.

“Ready, set, go!” Mason exclaims again and hits the timer. Sam and I start putting the edge pieces of the puzzle together. We both reach for the same piece at the same time and end up clunking our heads together.

“Ow,” I say with a laugh, and Sam clasps his hands around my waist, pulling me to him.

“You okay, babe?”

“I have a thick skull. Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” He leans in, acting like he’s inspecting my forehead, but kisses me instead. Mason grumbles about how gross we are but Jacob shushes him, saying they’ll get an advantage over us. While my competitive side can come out strong from time to time, I’d rather stand here with Sam’s hands on my hips than win a silly competition. Because as far as I’m concerned, I’ve already won the game.

Our distraction, however, does come with a cost. I grimace as Mason pours two more shots for us.

“If anyone pukes, you’re cleaning it up,” Mrs. Harris says as she comes out of her sewing room.

“We’re just getting started,” Mason says and pours himself a shot of tequila, even though he made sure it was known he had put more pieces of the puzzle together than we had.

“I’m kinda done,” I admit, wrinkling my nose. “Day-drinking is making me tired.” I sniffle and then cough.

“You can go upstairs and take a nap,” Mrs. Harris tells me. “Rory’s old room is filled with baby items, but the boys’ old rooms are all guest rooms now. Feel free to go lie down. You sound like you’re coming down with a cold.”

“I’m fine,” I say, brushing it off again.

“You should rest,” Sam urges. “Upstairs. In my old bedroom.”

A dull throbbing is starting right behind my eyes, and I know if I ignore it, it’ll only get worse. I really should lie down, close my eyes, and take a short nap if I want to avoid a migraine later.

“That would be nice. I can feel a migraine coming on.”

“Do you get them often?” Sam asks.