Page 65 of Saved By the Boss

Her sharp eyes flick to my leg, then back to my face, her brow furrowing slightly. “You’re still in pain,” she says, not quite a question.

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, waving it off. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Instead, she sets the deck of cards aside and gets up, heading toward the kitchen.

“Wait here,” she says over her shoulder.

“I won’t move an inch,” I mutter, leaning back against the chair. I hear her rummaging through a cabinet, the clinking of glass and the sound of something being uncorked. A moment later,she’s back, holding a bottle of amber liquid and two mismatched shot glasses.

“Figured this might help,” she says, setting the glasses on the table. “I don’t have painkillers, but whiskey works just as well.”

I raise an eyebrow, watching as she pours a generous amount into each glass.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” she says with a smirk, sliding one of the glasses toward me.

I take it and lift it in a mock toast.

“What should we toast to?” I ask her genuinely, trying to come up with my own option. “Not freezing to death?”

“To surviving this godforsaken storm,” she counters, clinking her glass against mine.

We toss back the shots, the whiskey burning a fiery path down my throat. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything stronger than beer, and it hits harder than I expected, warming me from the inside out. Jade doesn’t even flinch, setting her glass down with a satisfied sigh.

“Not bad,” I say, setting my own glass down on the table.

She grins, already reaching for the bottle.

“Another?” she asks, holding the bottle out toward me.

I probably shouldn’t. The first shot is already making the corners of my brain feel hazy and I don’t think this situation needs less inhibition. But it is also helping the pain, and it’s the first time in several hours that I’m not thinking of the incessant throbbing inmy ankle. I pick up my glass and hold it out to her.

“Why not?” I say, watching as she pours. The pain hasn’t disappeared, but it’s dulling slightly, and the warmth spreading through my chest is a welcome distraction.

We keep playing cards, taking shots in between rounds, and before I know it, the tension I’ve been carrying all day starts to melt away. Jade’s sharp edges soften too, her laughter coming more easily, her smile lingering longer. It’s strange, this easy camaraderie we’ve fallen into. It almost feels like a date, though a very unconventional one. Strangest of all, I don’t mind it anymore. The whiskey has also dulled my guilt.

She stands, heading toward the stove to check on a pot of something she’d started a few minutes ago.

“I hope you like canned chili,” she says, glancing back at me. “I’d prefer homemade, but circumstances being what they are, this is the best I can offer.”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to go out of her way to please me.

She brings the bowls to the table, and we eat while continuing the game, the combination of food and whiskey making the cabin feel even cozier. The wind howls outside, the snow piling higher by the second, but in here, it’s warm and bright.

As the night goes on, the line between casual and flirtatious starts to blur. The whiskey certainly isn’t helping things, but it’s more than just that. Every now and then I catch her watching me with her big, dark eyes, a look of interest and curiosity and every time our eyes meet, I feel a spark between us.

I laugh more than I have in years. I have to admit that this is so nice. I’ve been so isolated since I first moved here. I was so lost in my grief, I couldn’t even imagine that one day I might be sitting across the table from a beautiful woman and enjoying myself. It’s like a part of me is coming alive again, and I don’t feel the need to condemn it back to death the way I normally would.

At some point, she shrugs off her hoodie, leaving her in a thin t-shirt that clings to her in ways I’m desperately trying not to ogle at. The firelight casts a warm glow across her skin, and I can see the faint outline of her silhouette through the fabric. My mouth goes dry, and I quickly look away, trying and miserably failing to focus on my hand of cards.

The alcohol and the rising lust have made me forget what we’re even playing. The numbers on the cards swim in front of me, blurring together as I try desperately to concentrate. I know it’s my turn, that I need to put a card down or pick a card up, but I feel like I can barely breathe.

“You okay over there?” she asks, her tone innocent but her smile anything but.

“Fine,” I say, though my voice comes out rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, forcing myself to meet her gaze.

She sets the glass down. “I think I’m out,” she says, glancing at the empty bottle.

---