“That was very good? We did well?” I question. “Security said chaste and that was the virgin strawberry daiquiri of kisses, no? I could’ve easily straddled you—not that I would’ve, because boundaries.” I flush but never divert from his tightened eyes. “It was good,” he confirms. “But it wasn’t a virgin daiquiri.” I, so eagerly, want inside his head. “It was a dirty martini?” I swear his lip tics upward in a momentary smile. “More like a Guinness.” It’s his favorite beer.
