(Third POV)
The bar had grown louder.
Not in volume — but in energy.
The kind that softened boundaries and loosened truths. The kind where laughter felt warmer, where hands lingered longer, where gazes meant more than they should. Light spilled lazily over polished wood and glassware, neon flickering like a slow pulse beneath the haze of conversation and clinking ice.
It was the kind of night that made honesty dangerous.
And apparently, no one was being particularly careful.
--
(The Unofficial Shift)
Vince was very aware of Lara's knee brushing his now and then.
He told himself it was because the booth was narrow.
He told himself the proximity meant nothing.
He told himself the warmth settling in his chest was only the alcohol.
He told himself a lot of things.
All of which he elected not to interrogate.
"Okay, serious question," Kate suddenly announced, leaning forward with ridiculous solemnity. "Who here is the worst drunk?"
