We weave through the crowd, and I'm acutely aware of his presence behind me. My brain ping-pongs between blaming the tequila for this attraction and acknowledging that I'd notice his good looks even stone-cold sober.
At the bar, Marco appears before we can even flag him down.
"Water for the lady," Bash requests.
Marco slides two glass bottles of water across the bar with a knowing smile. "Hydration is key."
I gulp mine down, desperately hoping the cool liquid will clear my head.
It doesn't.
This man is still standing too close, still watching me with amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Better?" he asks.
"Getting there." I set the almost empty glass down. "Now I just need to decide if more alcohol is a good idea or a terrible one."
"That depends on your goals for the evening."
I narrow my eyes at him. "And what are yours?"
"Currently?" His gaze drops to my lips again. "Getting to know the woman in the green dress who dances like she's got something to prove."
The accuracy stings. "That obvious, huh?"
"Only to someone who recognizes the look." He leans against the bar. "So, another drink with me?"
I should say no. I should walk away from this man who clearly specializes in making women feel like the only star in his sky. Instead, I nod.
"One more. But I'm picking this time."
His smile is slow and genuine. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
I turn back to Marco, who's waiting expectantly.
"Two Purple Haze shots," I order, surprising myself with my boldness. ”Put it on my sister's tab. Emily Whitaker.”
Bash leans in. "What's a Purple Haze? Sounds like something that might make me see things."
"Not quite that potent." I laugh. "It's raspberry vodka, blue curaçao, and grenadine. The colors layer, so it's pretty too."
Marco slides two vibrant purple shots towards us. They’re a deep magenta at the bottom, shifting to electric blue at the top. Bash studies his with mock suspicion.
I pick up my glass and clink it against his.
We tip the shots back in unison. The sweet berry flavor hits first, followed by the unmistakable burn of vodka. Bash's eyes widen slightly as he sets his empty glass down.
"That's dangerous," he says, shaking his head slightly. "Tastes like some kind of candy but kicks like something much stronger."
"Yeah." I run my tongue slowly across my bottom lip, catching the last sweet drop. "Dangerously delicious."
His eyes track the movement. The air between us shifts, thickens.
I blame the alcohol for what I do next.
I step closer, rising onto my tiptoes to reach his ear. The warmth of his skin radiates against my lips as I whisper, "Let's have another."
When I pull back, his expression has transformed. His earlier playful confidence is replaced by something more intense, more focused. He doesn't object, just nods once.
