She arches a brow, tossing me a smug grin.
“Oryou’llbe on your ass,” she taunts. “Bottoms up, Brooks.”
I hold her stare as she lifts her shot toward me and we clink our cups together.
“Here’s to getting fucked up in paradise while our managers freeze their asses off back in that sad Chicago office,” I toast.
Meadow snorts before we throw our shots back at the same time.
We both make the exact same face, scrunching our noses as if the liquor punched us right in the throat.
Meadow coughs immediately, eyes watering as she stares down at the now-empty glass.
“Okay, wow,” she rasps. “That really is—”
“Smooth?” I finish for her.
She blinks, surprised. “Honestly, yeah. Not bad.”
I lift my pinky and hold my cup out like I’m at high tea.
“I’m getting notes of... oak,” I say in a serious but humorous tone.
“Oh my God, Owen,” Meadow groans, already laughing. “Stop.”
“Hints of caramel. A whisper of spice,” I continue in a fake posh accent.
“You are ridiculous,” she chuckles. “You drink beer out of a can and have whiskey occasionally.”
“Classy men contain multitudes, Meadow,” I joke, nodding sagely. “Perhaps you should try getting cultured like me.”
She stares at me for a long second before shaking her head.
“Yeah,” she says, looking back toward the table. “I’m gonna need shot two. Immediately.”
Shot Two
We knock back the second shot without a hitch, feeling a bit looser this time around.
After choosing a darker rum, the burn hits faster this time, warmth spreading from my throat to my chest.
Meadow coughs once, then laughs under her breath, shaking it off like she’s tougher than that.
God, she’s so fucking cute.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and side-eyes me.
“So...” she says casually.
“So?” I repeat.
“You gonna pretend you didn’t totally stare this morning?”
Ah, she’s feeling bold after shot number two.
I blink, acting like I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“What?”
