“Scary?” he said, dropping his hand. “I know how to use a rifle. Like I said, if someone walks in here, they won’t be walking back out.”

I shuddered at that, but I was also relieved to know we weren’t completely unprotected.

“It’s probably just some jerk messing with us. Nothing to really worry about,” he stood again, running his palm along his jaw. “I should probably try to get this room sealed off before we lose what little light we have.”

Pushing to my feet, I ignored his frown. “I’m going to help.”

“Syd—”

“Don’t argue with me. I can help. What do we need to do? Gather some blankets? Make a bed fort?”

He cracked a grin. “Come on then.”

We used a sheet from upstairs to tack against the door leading to the sunroom, since some cold air was getting around the blue tarp. Then we gathered up all the blankets and, along with a set of sleeping bags and a king-sized mattress dragged down from upstairs, we created one hell of a bed near the fireplace.

A makeshift bed that we’d have to share—a makeshift bed with a shotgun tucked nearby.

Yikes.

As we put everything together, the tension between us would evaporate, and then return with a vengeance every time our hands or bodies brushed. When I looked at him, I would find him watching me, but he always looked away quickly. I didn’t know what to make of that. We joked and made idle conversation to fill the silence. He avoided talking about anything that could be led back to what had happened between us or what could be happening outside. By the time we had dinner (cold cuts again), I was wired tight and tense.

I hit the liquor cabinet like someone coming out of forced rehab. Pulling out the bottle of Jack, I poured myself a shot and downed it. The liquid burned like a hot coal, causing me to cough.

“Are you drinking again?” Kyler asked, setting his guitar case down in the living room.

I sat the shot glass down and refilled it. “Yeah.”

He reached around me, taking the bottle from me before I could pour another. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I scowled at him. “I think it’s a perfect idea.”

“How about we stay away from the hard liquor tonight?” He bent and pulled two beers out of the tiny bar fridge. He popped them open. “And drink this?”

“I hate the taste of beer,” I said, taking it.

He smiled as he went back to the guitar case and put the bottle down on the end table. “And I hate seeing you drunk.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Why?”