“Since when do you drink whiskey?” “Since I can afford the expensive kind.” “How much did you pay for that?” “Enough to appreciate every last drop.” He takes another sip, sending a zing down my spine in the process as he watches me with hawklike fascination. Screw the gutter. I’m going straight to hell for the way I press my thighs together. “Please tell me you didn’t pay more than a hundred bucks for that.” He frowns. “Two hundred?” My question is met with the pounding music around us. “A thousand?” My voice breaks at the end. “I don’t expect someone who orders strawberry daiquiris to
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