Page 18 of Mixing Drinks For Tipsy Weasels

I pick up the next mocktail, setting down the empty glass. I reach for the pen, my fingers brushing against Rupert's as he does the same.

It feels as if electricity prickles my skin at the touch, which is new. We've touched dozens of times over the course of knowing each other, but that's never happened before.

"You go," I say, pulling my hand back.

He looks at me as if he's trying to work out what's going on but is as lost for an explanation as I am. Though I think I'm imagining it. His feelings towards me have likely remained completely unchanged. We might be in a truce right now, and even regaining some sense of friendship between us, but I'm not naive enough to think that this is anything more than that. Once the ball is done, we won't talk to one another again unless we find ourselves in a similar situation next year.

An odd feeling fills me even at the thought of that, almost as if I'm disappointed. I watch Rupert from the corner of my eye and try to figure out what he's thinking, and if there's even the smallest chance that it could be something along the same lines as me.

Except that's not what I'm supposed to be doing. I still don't know why our friendship ended in the first place, only that something changed.

I push those thoughts aside and focus on the drinks and making idle small talk, not putting enough heed to any of my thoughts to actually voice them, it's better for both of us if I keep them in my head and don't complicate things.

A third flight of cocktails arrives and I let out a long breath, feeling a little flushed. Maybe it's the thoughts in my head making me feel this way, or the heat in the room. "More."

"Mmm, more," Rupert says.

"I can't believe these are mocktails, they taste just like booze," I say, slurring my words ever so slightly.

Alarm crosses Rupert's face and he picks up one of the shot glasses and smells. "Erm...I think that's because theyarealcoholic."

"Oh." I contemplate it for a moment. "That might explain a few things."

"Like?"

"Why I think you're cute when you smile." Oops,l I shouldn't have said that out loud. It's not that it isn't true, I think it'salwaysbeen true, it's just that it's the kind of thought that needs to stay on the inside.

He chuckles. "Good to know, Erica."

"No, seriously, you should do it more." It's almost impossible to resist the urge to prod his face, and I almost give in.

"I smile all the time."

"Not around me you don't. You've been all grouchy-weasel since we were ten." I do my best imitation of a grumpy face.

He laughs. "Is that what you think I look like?"

"It's what youdolook like," I insist. "Erica, I'm never going to kiss you and I'm going to quit the play because of it." My impression is terrible, but it makes me giggle uncontrollably despite that.

"You are a lightweight, Erica Stubbs." His amusement is hard to hide, though I'm not sure if it's because of my impression, or because I've accidentally drunk a lot more than I should.

"Or maybe you just haven't drunk enough," I respond, letting out a small laugh. "My head feels a bit fuzzy."

"Mmm, I'm not surprised. I think we need some water." He waves to Robin who is passing. "Can we get some water for Erica? Her testers were supposed to be non-alcoholic, but they were."

Their eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

I giggle in response. "I thought they tasted strong."

"Yes," Rupert says, ignoring me.

Robin closes their eyes and lets out a frustrated puff of air. "I need to go check they've listened to all the other dietary requirements."

"I haven't broken out in hives," Rupert supplies.

"Good to know," Robin mutters darkly, stalking off to the bar.

"Someone is introuble," I sing song.

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