My lip curls into a disbelieving smile. “Are you already drunk?” He makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “My tolerance is shit when it comes to liquor.” “Noted,” I murmur. “I also haven’t eaten.” I hop off my stool and round the counter. Grabbing the bag of chips we keep under the register, I toss them in front of him. I also fill a couple glasses of water. “Soak it up before you end up flat on your ass. I’m not taking care of you.” “Noted,” he throws back at me sarcastically, popping a chip in his mouth.
