Now I stared at the second shot, wondering how it had shown up in front of me. Buzzing, my gaze bounced from the amber-colored liquor to Jase. Wait. Was this the second one? Or the third?

I think it was the third.

“It wasn’t me.” He held his hands up.

Avery, who had also indulged a bit, giggled. Her face was so flushed, I could barely make out the freckles. Cam wasn’t drinking, so he was loading her up on drinks. Granted, she deserved to let loose. Raising kids had to . . . My thoughts trailed off, and then I remembered I was trying to figure out how the shot got in front of me.

I turned and looked at Brock.

He was sitting to my left, arms resting on the table. He shrugged a shoulder as he picked up his glass of water. “Thought you looked like you needed another one.”

I studied him for a moment. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Never.” He widened his eyes innocently. “I’m just trying to get you to relax.”

“I am relaxed.” I picked up the glass. “Totes relaxed,” I murmured.

“You’re normally as tense as a damn cobra,” he responded, and I had no idea if cobras were tense. I was going to have to take his word for it. “Drink up.”

I drank up.

The liquid burned my throat and watered my eyes. Gasping for air, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my God, it burns.”

Brock chuckled and leaned into me, his entire right arm pressing against mine, and I liked it. A lot. “It’s the good kind of burn, though. Puts hair on your chest,” he teased.

“That’s hot,” I replied, my gaze dropping from his face to his chest. “You have a nice chest.”

Another laugh rumbled out of Brock. “Well, thank you.”

In the back of my head, I knew I was experiencing the worse case of word vomit, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself, or care. “Do you still have tattoos on your chest?”

His smile was wide as he stared at me. “Since I’m not willing to subject myself to hours of laser removal, yes, I still have tats on my chest, Jilly.”

I nodded, happy to hear this. “I really liked them. Especially the . . . the cross one. Yeah.” Pausing, I easily pictured it in my head. “It’s all Celtic and . . . shit.”

“Celtic and shit.” Jase laughed. “I like the way that sounds.”

“Me too.” I gave him the nod of approval I just knew he was waiting on.

“Look!” Teresa suddenly smacked Jase’s arm. “I am so glad I’m not the only pregnant person here.”

Jase chuckled. “It’s a restaurant and bar. Last time I checked, pregnant women were allowed to eat in places that served food.”

“Yeah, but it feels weird,” she replied. “I feel like everyone is looking at me, secretly judging me.”