I nod, not sure I’m completely convinced. I still don’t know how to feel about him cutting back. My gut says he’s an alcoholic, and any alcoholic I’ve heard of doesn’t drink, period.

But if his therapist thinks he’s still capable of forming a healthy relationship with drinking, then who am I to question it?

He glares at me. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?”

He rolls his eyes and looks away, frowning at something across the room. Almost distractedly, he says, “Trust is a two-way street, man.”

He leaves it at that, but I immediately flash back to yesterday, in his room. My heart speeds up. Does he mean what I think he does?

“You’re right,” I say, drawing his gaze back to me. I nod. “I’ll back off. You know your limits.” I hope.

Something like relief loosens some of the tension in his shoulders, softening his whole demeanor. His mouth ticks up in a smirk. “That easy, huh?”

I shrug as I take another pull of my beer.

“Or are you just saying that to get me naked again?”

I start coughing.

He’s chuckling, dimples out on full display like the goddamn beautiful asshole that he is, while I’m busy trying not to hack up my lungs, tears cresting my eyes.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I rasp, rubbing my sternum.

He rolls his eyes. “Drama queen.”

I mock-gasp. “Now I’m a queen?”

He’s full-blown laughing now, and if I wasn’t so goddamn taken aback by the sight of it, I’d notice that nearly everyone here has tuned into this corner of the bar.

“Your fucking face,” he says, eyes squinted in laughter.

I throw a peanut shell at him. “Your fucking face.”

He scowls, but there’s very little heat to it as he throws the shell back at my head.

I bat it away and grab for a napkin, balling it up, just as he reaches for the soda dispenser. I’ve got my arm raised, primed to throw, while his finger’s on the trigger, aiming it right at my face.

We’re at a stand-still, eyes narrowed on one another’s with matching smiles promising war.

It’s like I’m suddenly eleven years old again, facing my best friend on the playground, snowballs beginning to melt in our hands as we wait for the other to fire the first shot.

“You sure you wanna do this, City Boy?”

I give him a sly smile. “Babe, do you even have to ask?”

Heat flares in his eyes, and just when I think he might drop the hose and throw himself across the bar at me, we’re interrupted by a loud commotion from across the room.

Blinking, as if waking from a dream, I look around, remembering where we are.