“We’ve got time for one drink. Tell the lady what you want.” My tricky roommate swirls the amber liquid, as if trying to hypnotize him into misbehaving.

He still looks uncertain.

“Hey, Sammy.” All our eyes turn to Holly, who somehow appears both serious and amused. “Terra and I like to play a game sometimes where we guess the drinks people are going to order. How about you let me make you a surprise drink, one I think you’ll like? And then you can tell me if I’m wrong or right. Sound good?”

After a moment, he nods reluctantly.

“Okay, prepare yourselves, boys. This is going to be fun.”

HOLLY

I only need to observe Sammy for a few seconds to diagnose him.

This man needs tequila.

The recipe is simple.

1. Orange juice

2. Tequila

3. Grenadine

4. Garnish

As my hands move with precision, I try not to let my attention stray back to Ben.

The second he walked through the doorway, I knew he was in the room.

Some people fill the air with energy, like Terra. It can be exhausting, although it does help when working in a dance club. Ben is at the opposite end, giving off a sense of calm steadiness that centers me.

All traces of tension drained from my neck when he leaned against the bar. It’s not that I’m super stressed or that I hate my job. Some nights are just louder and more demanding than others. Tonight was one of those until my new friend walked in.

At least, I think he’s my friend. What do you call the person you are giving a kidney to and have hung out with once and have borrowed their car and are now giving his roommates free drinks? The closest word I can think of is friend.

And that’s all we are. Just friends. No need to be admiring the tempting curl of his lips or the unruly hair falling over his forehead, begging me to finger-comb it back into place.

I tear my eyes off Ben, focusing on the task at hand. “There you go, Sammy boy. Take a sip and tell me what you think.” I slide the glass across the smooth wood with the exact amount of pressure to ensure it lands directly in front of him.

He hesitates, and I’m guessing it’s the colorfulness of the beverage. Tequila sunrises are accurate representations of their name. I pop a cherry in the red-yellow liquid and raise my eyebrows, hoping my expression conveys that I will not back down until he at least tastes it. With a sigh, he picks up the glass, places his lips to the rim, and gives a tentative sip.

He’s a goner.

“Holy hell, that’s delicious. What is it?”

Success.

“Why don’t you finish it, and I’ll tell you when you come back for round two?” I lean over the bar and lower my voice, so he has to come in close to hear me. “Now, I’ve seen you eyeing that dance floor since you walked up to my bar, Sammy. I think you need to take this delicious drink I made you out there and dance your heart out before your wet-blanket friends make you leave.”