I twist the cap. "Deal."
We clink the tiny bottles together and throw them back simultaneously.
The burn is immediate and deeply unpleasant.
"Ugh. That's fucking horrible."
"I never said it was the good stuff." He's already reaching for another one, completely unbothered. "Ladies first."
"Okay," I point at him. "You can’t laugh."
"No promises."
"Bennet."
"Fine. No laughing. Go."
"About five years ago, I flew to Sydney for a PR conference as keynote speaker." I grab another bottle and hold it for moral support without opening it. "With delays and missed connections, I arrived with minutes to spare, ran to the restroom. Rushed straight back out to the podium just as they were announcing me. I put my bag down, took my coat off, and walked on stage. My skirt was tucked into the back of my stockings the entire time I spoke. Theentire...time. Nobody came up to me afterward. Not one person. Not my assistant, notthe conference organizer, not a single soul in that room of four hundred people pulled me aside and said a word."
His lips are pressed together so hard they've gone white. He's maintaining eye contact with concentrated effort. I narrow my eyes at him. He holds both hands up, making a sound that is almost a laugh, then converts it aggressively into a cough.
"You know how I found out?" I continue.
He doesn't risk opening his mouth. Just nods, eyes wide, holding it together by a thread.
"It was on the goddamn news when I got back to my hotel room."
He loses it completely.
The laugh that comes out of him fills the entire room. I grab a couch pillow and throw it at him; he catches it still laughing. "Four hundred people," he finally gets out.
"Four. Hundred."
He shakes his head, still grinning. "That's the most horrifying thing I've ever heard."
"Your turn." I open another bottle and hand it to him. "Match it."
"You've seen my file, take your pick." He considers for a moment. "But I'd say having my ass and dick trending globally takes the cake. I'm pretty sure I was roofied that night because I definitely didn't have all my faculties." He chugs his whiskey. "The amount of men sliding into my DMs afterward became genuinely comical."
I haven't touched my shot. I'm a little lost somewhere I shouldn't be.
"Sorry." His smirk finds me. "I've embarrassed you. I don't think I've seen that particular shade of pink before."
"Don't flatter yourself." I wave him off and throw back my tequila in one go. "I was just thinking it could have been worse. At least you have a nice ass and dick."
What the hell, woman.
His eyes go wide. A slow, deeply satisfied smile spreads across his face, and I am fairly certain I definitelyhaveinvented a new shade of blush, because I can feel it from my chest to my hairline and there is nowhere in this apartment to go.
"I mean—" I start.
"No, no." he holds up a hand. "Let's sit with that."
"I was being objective—"
"Objectively."
"It was a clinical observation—"
