Then he sets the empty glass down, reaches over to the cocktail napkin, and lifts the lime wedge I sucked on after the first shot. I watch, mouth going dry, as he lifts the lime to his mouth and bites down on it. My eyes dart back to the bar, to the third shot glass holding two lime wedges. He didn’t need to take mine. Even if there weren’t new ones, he could’ve taken a drink of his beer as a chaser. But he chose my lime.
HOT
