Page 80 of Crossing the Top Line

“We should shut off the breaker soon. Just to protect the system from surges later,” Spencer says.

Oliver nods, getting to his feet before looking back at Tori. “I’ll do refills while I’m up. What’s your poison?” he asks, holding out his hand.

“Whatever you’re having is fine,” she says, finishing off her drink before passing him the cup.

“If you say so,” Oliver says, smirking as he makes his way to the kitchen.

I watch him go, smiling a little to myself. My cheeks are warm from the alcohol, my head light.

“I filled my bathtub with clean water, on top of what I bought. Are there any other vessels we can use?” Spencer asks.

I turn a curious and confused look, not sure what to do with that string of words. “We’ve got some empty protein powder containers that were supposed to go out with the recycling in the garage,” I answer, to which Spencer nods and heads off without another word.

Which leaves me and Tori alone. My face warms for an entirely different reason as she meets my gaze, smiling absently. Well, not truly alone. I can hear Oliver banging around in the kitchen, humming to himself.

“We should get the candles and blankets,” I say with a nod to the stairs.

If she picks up on my hidden meaning, she ignores it, letting out a bark of a laugh. “What? So we can huddle together to conserve warmth? Not on your life,” she manages to get out through her giggles.

I blink, taken aback by her response. She gives me another smile, this one patronizing.

“Once the power goes, the central air will go with it. I’d give it six hours before we’re reduced to sticky, humid, sweat puddles on the floor,” she explains.

I let out a brief noise of comprehension, looking away bashfully. If she could see through my flimsy excuses this easily, maybe I should slow down on the drinking.

Spencer returns with six massive plastic jars under his arms, bypassing the kitchen and heading back to the utility room to use the deep sink to fill them. Oliver returns with two cups, passing one to Tori before sitting between us on the couch, much closer than he was before. Tori gives him some strong side-eye before taking her first tentative sip of the drink he handed her. But the liquid barely passes her lips before she’s choking, sputtering as she sits up more fully.

“What is that?” she croaks through her coughs.

“Hockey player special. One-third vodka, two-thirds water,” Oliver replies, taking a huge swig of his own drink without so much as flinching.

“That’s—why water?” she asks, turning her incredulous glare to his face.

“Gotta stay hydrated.”

“And the vodka?”

“Gotta get drunk.”

There’re a few moments of silence after Oliver’s answer, and I crack first, snorting back a laugh that sets Tori and Oli off into their own fits of giggles. My chuckles fade as I look at Tori’s face, suddenly struck by how gorgeous she is when she’s laughing. I don’t get to see it often when we’re at the arena, because we’re both trying to do our jobs, but I wish I could see it more. Her smile makes her lighter blue eye sparkle like crystal clear water under the sun, and I’ve never wanted to drown so badly in my life.

I look down at my drink, downing the rest of it before setting the cup aside. If I’m getting poetic, then it’s definitely time to pause my alcohol consumption. Better to pace myself. There’s no telling how long the storm’s going to last, or how long we’re going to have to stay locked up in here before it’s declared safe to come out.

Even if it’s stupid and selfish, there’s a part of me that hopes this hurricane is a bad one, and we get trapped together for a week or more. We’ve got plenty of food, and who knows how much trouble the four of us could get into.

I’mgettingtheimpressionthat drunk me just might be a pyromaniac. That’s the only explanation I can muster for why there are twelve lit candles on the coffee table, and why I can’t stop staring at those beautiful little flames.

It’s hard to tell how long we’ve been hunkered down. Most of our phones are off to conserve power, but we decided to leave one to keep an eye out for any important bulletins and track the storm on radar. We shut the power off a while ago, so all the appliances aren’t any help, and I can’t find a single clock anywhere in the living room. I only know that I’ve had three more “hockey player specials,” and I’mfeelingit.

“You weren’t kidding about the humidity, Vicki,” Elijah comments into the semi-darkness.

I wrinkle my nose as I tear my eyes from the candles to glare at him. “Ew, no. Don’t call me Vicki,” I say, scoffing with disgust.

“I have an Aunt Vicki, and she’s a lovely lady,” Oliver adds, words starting to slur.

He’s been matching me drink for drink, while Eli and Spencer are trying to be responsible or something. Not that they haven’t been drinking, but just not like Oli and I have.

“One of the neighbors on my street was named Vicki, and she was a bitch. She had eight mean-ass Pomeranians, and she refused to contain them beyond an invisible fence. Not that it really did much, with all the fur. So, there was this pack of feral ankle biters roaming the cul-de-sac, terrorizing everyone, shitting everywhere. It wasn’t until someone got bit that she was forced to put up a fence.”

---