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Mark ordered a beer with his cheeseburger, then a shot of whiskey after that. Gracie stuck to iced tea and watched him with growing alarm. She knew that he occasionally drank with the fishermen back at Ocean Shores—like the night he’d fallen off the ramp when Mellow startled him. But tonight seemed different—as if he was trying to get blotto.
“You should take it easy,” she kept telling him.
“Two words.” He gestured at her with his shot glass. “Designated driver.”
“Yes, but—”
“Two more words. Hotel room.”
“But—”
“Cheers.” And he downed another one. Soon he was loose and chatty and launching deep philosophical conversations with the truckers at the table behind them.
“Vibranium or adamantium? Which is stronger?”
It was amazing how passionate people could get about random topics o
