"You would be correct," a voice purrs behind me.
I almost don't want to turn around, that's how much I'm enjoying the shocked and impressed expression on the bartender's face. I wait until he gives me a look of approval before I turn to face Dani.
"Hey, dirty girl," I murmur so only she can hear.
"Hey, pretty boy," she responds with a teasing smile. She takes a seat at the bar next to me before I can ask if she wants to move to a table, and then nods at the bartender for another Smithwick's.
"No table?" I still ask, angling my body so I'm still looking at her.
"Nope," she says, facing forward and getting comfortable. "Sitting at the bar is easier because it takes away the need for that awkward kind of forced eye contact. This way, I don't have to look at you if I don't want to."
I can't help it—I chuckle. "It's a good thing my ego is rock-solid because you are definitely not good for it."
She shoots me a playful grin at that. "Yeah, I'm sure commenting on the awkward side of a first date totally overshadows the ego-push of me screaming your name last week."
I don't miss the way the bartender's eyes widen in shock when he overhears Dani's comment as he slides the beers over to us. Nor can I help the smug smile that stretches across my face when his gaze slides to me.
"You're right, I'll probably live," I concede. Looking over her outfit, I'm struck with a momentary flash of awe—somehow, she's even hotter than I remember. She's wearing a dress this time, though it’s black and paired with the same combat boots I saw her wearing that first day on campus. Her black hair, as it always seems to be, is left to hang to her waist and tempt me into wanting to grab it. Memories of doing exactly that pop into my head, and it's all I can do to take a huge swig of beer in an attempt to cool down.
"So," I start instead, wanting to focus on something other than how badly I want to fuck this girl. "Does this mean I need to abandon all usual first date etiquette, or just the dinner date at a table part?"
"Let's just skip the usual awkward bits." She shoots me another coy smile. "Technically we already know each other as intimately as you can know a person, so I'd say we can skip the other stuff."
So much for distracting myself from my hardening dick.
"So no questions about what you do and if you're close with your parents," I choke out. "Got it." Then I take another big swig of my cold beer.
"Exactly," she says in a pleased tone as she slides one of the shots of whiskey over to me. Lifting hers in the air, she says, "To the ideal kind of date: no expectations, none of the awkward bits that come from them, and to it ending exactly where every good date should end."
And then I watch in awe as she throws the shot back.
"This is already the greatest date ever," I mumble without thinking. Then I down my own shot.
I want to ask her a million questions. I want to know who the fuck this girl is that blew into my life out of nowhere and blows my mind every time I see her.
"So what do we want to talk about?" she asks casually, crossing her legs under the bar. All it does is bring her closer to me, close enough that her foot is now stroking along my leg every time she bounces it.
"Well, since we're not doing the cliché first date questions, let's just do the fun ones," I suggest. "How about the question game?"
She quirks an eyebrow. "The question game? Isn't that just called conversation?"
"Kind of," I say with a chuckle. "You take turns asking questions, anything you want, but you can't repeat any of them. My friends love this game. Although for some reason, they refuse to play it unless they're on a couch."
Dani shrugs and waves the bartender down for two more shots. "Sounds fun. Let's do it. Couch can wait for next time."
"Next time, huh?" I ask with an amused quirk of my lips. "Already planning a next time?"
"You can thank your big dick for that," she says with a grin.
I can only blink at that. "I take it back. You're great for my ego."
Chuckling, she gestures for me to begin. "Alright, pretty boy, ask your question."
"What do you do for work?" I blurt out immediately.
There's that playful eyebrow quirk again. "I thought we weren't doing any cliché first date questions?" she asks.
"Doesn't count as cliché if I really want to know the answer," I say with a shrug. "It'll be the only one, I promise."