Page 68 of Sing it, Sam

Sam smirks. “Panicking?” he teases.

I play-punch him in the shoulder. “I’m not, I just … I worry about you. What about your meds?”Is he still taking them?

He plants a soft, almost featherlight kiss to my lips. “I promise you a couple of swigs can only help.” Sam points the neck of the bottle towards me. “Ladies first.”

I take a sip. The sweetness zaps my tastebuds to life. As it trickles down my throat, I’m warmed from the inside. I hum in appreciation and hand it to Sam. “I hope you like Kahlua. It was the only strong stuff I had.”

“Totally not fussy.” He gulps down the liquid, holding his head back as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

He coughs and sinks back into his pillow. “Man, I drink like a girl.” He rubs his flattened hand over the base of his neck.

“So that means you drink awesome?” I tease.

“Yeah. Totally.”

We take turns in sipping from the flask and settle into each other’s arms. It’s the perfect end to a hectic day. The only thing that would make it more perfect would be a change of location. Snuggling with Sam on my couch, or in my bed ... that would be the ultimate.When will that become a reality?

“You good to chill for a bit?” Sam kisses my forehead. His arms hold me tight, as if he’s trying to keep me captive.As if he needs to.

“Yup. I shouldn’t drive right now, anyway. I’d be over the limit.” By the flop in my body and the heat in my cheeks, I know it. I’ll just have to wait it out.And what great company to do it in.

“Ha. I doubt it. Isn’t there like only one cop in town? He’s probably hanging out by the doughnut van anyway. You’d be fine. Not that I want you to go, or anything.”

“You’re such a bad influence.” I tilt my head back and look into his dreamy eyes. “On one hand, you’re encouraging me to drink and drive, and on the other hand, you’re a budding master scrapbooker. You have me so confused, Sam Marshall.”

Sam makes crazy eyes at me and does an Elvis snigger with his top lip. When he kisses me, making Elvis ‘ah-huh, ah-huh’s’ against my mouth, I burst out laughing.

“Sam, you realise you’re just as crazy as everyone else here, yeah?”

“You included?” he asks, smoothing my hair from my forehead and tucking it behind my ear.

“Sure. Just look at me. I’m prepared to risk getting my arse fired by sneaking in alcohol and snuggling with a resident. You best keep that bit of information under your hat, otherwise they’ll all be lining up with their orders for booze.”

“My lips are sealed,” he says. His brows draw tight.

“What?” I ask.

“Oh, just thinking about some stuff that one of the guys was talking about today. Do you know the guy with the bald head?”

“Um, can you be more specific?”

“The one in love with the Mustang.”

“Oh,” I say and sigh. “Mr Blandford. Bob, I think.”What in heaven’s name did Mr Blandford say to him? He seems to blurt out whatever he’s thinking. He’s probably spent too many years in the company of corpses. They don’t tend to tell you when you’ve crossed the line.

“Yeah, Bob. That’s him. He’s kind of creepy. Like a decent guy, but he knows some really weird shit about the human body.”

“Did he tell you what he did for a job?” I ask.

“No. Why?”

“He was an undertaker.”

Sam’s jaw drops. “Well, doesn’t that explain a hell of a lot.”

“Nice guy, but you can see why I didn’t introduce you to him on your first little outing into the dining hall.”

“Yeah. I might not’ve come back out.”

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