Thirst Trap [https://i.imgur.com/oxezwME.png]

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Twenty-five minutes later, as the bar wound its business up and its patrons finished staggering back to their houses of ugly spouses and rude, ungrateful children, Kirsten set down the final glass and tossed her polish-rag onto the side.

Just as she looked down to check her phone and dismiss dozens of unread messages, something clinked into the glass with startling precision. She whipped her head upwards and caught Rocco standing across the empty room with an insufferably coquettish smirk on his mouth and a plungingly unbuttoned shirt.

Inside the glass—of course—was a small ring of keys.

“Good boy, sugar,” Kirsten said, crossing her arms.

“Don’t call me that.” Rocco gestured to the tequila. “I’m the pretty one.”

She poured him a shot and he took the bottle. “How’d you manage it?”

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The neat drink took some of the taste out of Rocco’s mouth, but it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, the alcohol or the taste. “You’d be amazed how distracted someone can be when your tongue’s down their—”

She held a hand up. “Got it.”

He swirled the spirit like mouthwash for a second until his attention snagged and he paused, only to pluck a half-inch hair from between his teeth. Much too long to be his.

“Well,” Kirsten picked up the glass and tipped the keys out, “that’s all we needed from them.”

“And the bag?”

They both considered the nasty thing as she brought it up from behind the bar, then Rocco took it from her outstretched hand and gave it a shake for good measure. It was a practised motion, though not from investigating handbags.

“Anything good?” he said.

“Bit of makeup and two twenties.”

“Two?”

“You can piss right off.” Kirsten reclaimed the bottle of tequila, wiped the top, and replaced it on the shelf. “Now, drink that so we can go,” she said, pointing to the shot she’d just poured.

Up to his lips and back down to the bar in one smooth, silky motion. “You go on without me. I’ve got some business to deal with.”

She snorted. “What else have you got to do tonight?”

It was back, the lopsided smiling that had seen him through a fair chunk of his life. “Not what, gal.”

Her confusion gave way to unfettered speechlessness that hung in the air long after Rocco had turned and walked away. Her silence joined the rest in the empty club, and myriad fascinations overtook her, of varying shades of filth, of drenched jealousy. Kirsten blinked, as if to remind herself to breathe.

Oh, yes.

It took two to tango.