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“Hello, yourself.” The bartender gave him the come-get-me smile he knew all too well. Lexi stiffened next to him. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like—”
Lexi slid closer to him, putting her hand right next to his. “We need drinks.”
“Uh.” He fought back a grin. She was jealous. Bloody fabulous. “Yes, we do. Two shots of Patron, please?”
The bartender nodded, not even looking at Lexi. “Coming right up, cutie.”
“You know what?” Lexi crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like her.”
He chuckled. “She seemed plenty sweet to me, luv.”
“Yeah. You’d think so.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her hand. “What are we doing here, anyway?”
“Getting pissed.”
“Pissed?” Her brow furrowed. “I think we have different definitions of that word.”
Not really. In American terms, she looked quite pissed at the bartender. But he kept that thought to himself. “
Pissed. Drunk. Sloshed.” He shrugged. “Call it what you will.”
“In The States, pissed means angry.” She turned to stare at the bartender and frowned. Her skirt was still damp, and still showed her arse off way too much. His fingers twitched with the need to touch. To have. To conquer. “And I prefer mixed drinks or beer.”
“Bollocks. Tonight you like tequila.” He rested against the bar and swept his hair off of his forehead. “And then afterwards we’re either going to dance, or we’re going to my flat to watch fireworks. I have a great view of the sky.”
“Sky, huh?” Her lips twitched. “I’m sure you do. Must be quite the salary you get for being on the stage crew.”
He should tell her the truth. Tell her he wasn’t stage crew. After all, tomorrow she would see it for herself. But then tonight would be ruined. And he didn’t want to do that. So instead, he just kept digging the hole deeper and deeper. “They’re very, very generous with us. So what’s it going to be? Dancing, or my flat?”
He held his breath, waiting to see if she would accept one of his options. He didn’t offer door number three: she could go home alone.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. We’ll go watch the stupid fireworks at your place.”
He grinned, his heart picking up speed at her words. She had ignored the obvious option of the unmentioned door number three just as much as he had. “Excellent.”
While they spoke, the bartender had lined up the shots, including the salt and lime slices, and Lexi eyed them dubiously. “Why did she give us salt? Are we making margaritas? Because I’m so down with that.”
She didn’t even know how to take a shot of tequila? Damn, he could have a lot of fun teaching her how to live. He grabbed her hand and flipped her palm up, then ran his thumb over her smooth skin. When she shivered and tried to pull free, he held on tighter and clucked his tongue. Bending over her wrist, he flicked his tongue over her skin. He probably should have let her do it herself, but the opportunity to taste her was far too tempting to resist.
“Oh.” Her cheeks turned pink and she licked her lips. His cock grew hard, but he tried to ignore his primal reaction. He sprinkled salt on her, and then set down two slices of lime on a plate next to them.
He swallowed past the stifling desire choking him. “Okay, here’s how it works. First you lick the salt, then you take the shot. Once you swallow, suck on the lime. It enhances the flavor.”
She looked up at him with laughter in her eyes. Did she actually know what to do, and was playing with him? If so, he’d continue the game. As long as he got to keep her by his side, he would play any game she wanted. “If you say so … ”
“I do.”
She licked her lips again, her eyes on his hands. “Do I have to lick you, too?”
Oh, bloody hell. He was going to die by the end of the night. He should say no. He should do it himself. He held his arm out. “Yes, please.”
She held his wrist in between her fingers, her touch feather light. Then, without hesitation, she licked him. He shuddered, the urge to take her in his arms and taste her mouth again, overwhelming. He clenched his free hand into a fist, watching as she sprinkled salt on him.
She looked up, her eyes a liquid pool of emerald warmth, speckled with amber. “Ready?”
“Y-Yes.” Bloody hell, his blasted voice broke. Holding a shot glass out to her, he grabbed his and held it out for a toast. She didn’t take hers immediately, but rather stared at it mutinously, so he waved it under her nose again. “Trust me?”
