“Sure, we do. What kind?” Again, with that damn sexy ass smirk. He’s going to be the death of me—or at the very least, the reason for some very terrible decisions if I don’t watch out.

“Fuck it. Jack, please.”

Taking our menus, she smiles at the both of us. “You bet. I’ll be right back with those.”

Narrowing my gaze, I mumble, “You’re trouble.”

“Ha! I’m in a frat. What did you expect? Tame?” He holds my gaze, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a swig, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. When he sets the glass down, his tongue swipes across his lips, never breaking eye contact.

Thankfully, our server walks up to the table before I have to come up with a response to that, one that isn’t completely inappropriate.

“Alright, boys. Here you go.” Lindsey sets down two shot glasses filled to the brim with the amber liquid I love so much.

“Thanks,” Cash says, winking at her before she walks away. Holy fuck, he really is trouble. But also, maybe just a natural flirt, like I originally thought. Not flirting with me, per se.

“Okay, teach. Shot glasses up! Here’s to whiskey and questionable choices. Cheers!” He tosses the shot back, slamming it down onto the table, and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

All I can think as I throw my shot back is… questionable choices. What the fuck did he mean by that?! My phone buzzes on the table. Flipping it over, I see it’s a text from Aida.

Aida: Did you not fix the sink before you left?!

Me: I had to order a part, Aida. It’ll be there Monday. We have two other bathrooms. Use one of those.

Aida: Whatever. Fucking useless.

Dragging a hand down my face, I lock the screen, setting my phone face down on the table. I refuse to stress myself out with her tonight. Ninety percent of the time, we co-exist neutrally. No fighting, but not really interacting much at all, either. Then, the other ten percent are nights like tonight, where the distance and the indifference seem to shift into resentment and enmity, and that’s when the arguments happen.

Bringing my attention back to Cash, he’s studying me intently, big dark eyes shining and playful as his lip curls on one side in what can only be described as a cocky grin. “Was that your wife?”

Chuckling at his brazenness, I bring the chilled beer up to my lips, swallowing some down without ever breaking eye contact with him. “It was.”

“What’s her name?” He sits forward, arms rested on the table, with a slight tilt to his head.

“Aida.”

“That’s different. Is it Irish?”

“Greek.”

“What’s your background?” He lifts his hand in the air, waving the server down.