The look on Josh’s face when he sees the drinks stacked in front of me is priceless. He’d had this stiff smile on his face when he came back from the bathroom — perhaps relief at emptying his bladder — but that slides away like a glacier.

“And this?” he asks.

I take one of the shooters — one with lots of pretty layers — and bring it to my lips. “Come on.”

“Holly, I—”

“What, do you drive?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then what’s your problem?” I tip back the glass, grimacing when it burns the back of my throat. It tastes a bit like strawberries and pennies, but hey — it costs forty-five dollars a pop, so who’m I to complain, right?

Josh picks up a glass — sniffs it, I’m not even fucking with you — and then tosses it back.

“God, that’s awful.”

“Right?”

Well, that’s a first: we agree on something. I pick up the next, already expecting the limp-wristed wave he sends my way. My two beers and the tequila are already making merry in my brain — I giggle at him and sit forward, our knees bumping again. He glances down, lifting his head back up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t have whiplash.

“It’s just a shooter.”

“I have a project to work on tomorrow, Holly.”

I shiver.

I can’t help it — it comes and goes so fast there’s no time to stop it.

He notices, and his eyes crinkle with concern. “Are you getting cold?”

“No.” I put the shooter glass to my lips, but I don’t drink.

I’m not about to tell him that it was him saying my name that did that to me. Fuck, that wasn’t weird at all.

“You’re sure? I can ask them to—” He’s turning away from me, searching the restaurant for our waiter.

But I want his eyes on me. I like the way he looks at me — like I’m a puzzle box he’s trying to open. I tap his knee with mine, my smile widening when he turns back to me, startled.

“Fine, I’ll up the ante.”

I pick up his glass, holding it out to him. He stares at it, but his eyes flash to mine a second later. He doesn’t take it, caution in his eyes.

“What do you—”

“Take this shot with me and I won’t send that pic to my dad.”

His face remains frozen for a moment. And then, ever so slowly, his expression slides into blank shock.

“You wouldn’t,” he breathes.

I cock an eyebrow at him and lift the glass a few inches higher. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. Instead, they flicker over my face. I manage to suppress another shiver.

God, maybe I am cold.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, voice thick. “It was perfectly innocent.”

In that moment, I realize it isn’t. The roughness of his voice, the wariness in his eyes…

He’s fucking hot for me.

That boner of before wasn’t for his stuffy forms or thoughts of spreadsheets and long-distance phonecalls with China.

It was for me.

Me.

“Sure.” I manage to sound glib, despite the blood roaring in my ears. “But not if I crop it just right.”

He frowns. Then he gives me a confused smile and shifts back a few inches in the seat.

I put our glasses down, find my phone after a few seconds of searching, and open the pic. I manipulate it in my photo app for a few seconds, glancing up at him through my lashes. He’s watching me, but like a zombie trying to figure out if my brains are worth the effort of getting to them.

“See?” I twist the phone’s screen to him.

He looks down. That frown deepens. And then his face slips into abject horror.

“Holly, no.”

“Oh, Josh, yes,” I say, giggling at the sight of that horrified expression. “Cool, huh?” I look at my masterpiece. “Kinda looks like we’re naked, right?”

And it did. I’d cropped the photo just right — my vest and cardigan had slipped off my shoulder, like they tended to, and at the angle I’d been holding the phone, the shot ended just above Josh’s neckline.

In the picture, Josh didn’t look shocked or confused or awkward. He had a small, secretive smile on his face. I guess I just took the photo at the exact right time.

The phone goes back into my pocket, and I hoist up the glasses.

“Bottoms up,” I say.

He takes his with unsteady fingers, eyes unfocused and lips parted. I clink the glasses, tapping my finger against the bottom of his until he tips it back.

Grimacing, Josh puts his glass down and gives me a nod. “Now delete it.”

I snort at him, leaning into the seat’s plush cushion as I lace my fingers over my stomach.

“You kidding?” My eyes run down him, and I flash him a deep smile when I’ve finally made my way back to those wide eyes of his. “This shit’s gold. I could get you to do anything.”

I let the word out slowly, lifting my hand and bringing it to my mouth. I end off biting at the tip of my nail.

For some reason, Josh looks like he’s about to pass out.