Page 81 of Hidden Resolution

Erica could have told her. She’d been the Research Queen.

A second round of grief blurred her vision as she blindly stumbled her way to the kitchen.

A dark figure by the island blocked her path.

With a bloodcurdling scream, she transformed into a ninja warrior, kicking and swinging, fully intending to gouge her intruder’s eyes out.

“Jesus, Shonda! It’s me!” Mason backed away, hands up in surrender.

“What the hell, dude? I thought you’d left,” she screeched. Grabbing her side, she bent to catch her breath. “Christ alive and his holy grail! What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t leave you. Not like that.”

Fucking great. He felt sorry for her. Exactly what every girl wanted.Not.

“I absolve you of all guilt. I’m fine, and I want to be left alone.”

Uncomfortable under his watchful gaze, she averted her eyes and stormed to her liquor stash.

A minimum of two shots was imperative before making the dreaded phone call to the Suttons.

“Shonda—”

She rounded on him like the wounded, angry animal she was. “What do I have to say to get you to go? Leave! Get. The. Hell. Out!”

“No.”

He’d stated it so matter-of-factly, she wasn’t sure she heard properly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, no,” he replied succinctly. “I’m not leaving.”

“The fuck you aren’t!” she raged.

“You can be as mad as you want. It won’t change the fact I’m not leaving you at a time like this.”

“You are the most contrary sonofabitch I’ve ever met. Do you know that?” With jerky movements, she yanked open the cabinet, grabbed the vodka, and drank straight from the bottle. “Fucking arrogant asshole.”

24

Over Mason’s propped-up feet, he watched the Shonda Show. He nursed a single beer, because at some point after about four or five mouthfuls of vodka, she’d decided she didn’t want to drink alone. But getting drunk with her wouldn’t be smart. Before morning, she’d need assistance—most likely holding her hair as she emptied her stomach’s contents, and then to make it to bed.

She was so enraged at him earlier that she’d failed to realize she was clad only in her lacy bra and ass-hugging boy shorts. He’d figured it was kinder not to point it out and embarrass her.

With a grin, he took another sip.

First, she’d toasted to Erica. Next was Jacob, Zack, the imminent death of Christie if Shonda got a hold of her, and anything else she could think to drink to. Even sloppy drunk, she was a sight.

“Oh! I froggot to crawl the Shuttonsh!” she shouted, weaving and bobbing toward the counter.

Mason was up and heading her off before she got halfway.

“Uh, love, it can wait until morning.” Also, he had absolutely no idea what she’d said.

“They’re gonna be sho shad,” she cried pitifully.

Ah, Erica’s parents.