“No, no, no—you’re *not* putting tequila in that,” Mia said, leaning over the bar to snatch the shot glass from Nate’s hand. Her laughter bubbled up, loud and unapologetic, as he feigned offense, his lopsided grin betraying him. The dim bar lights caught the glint of her gold hoop earrings, and she swayed slightly on her stool, her cheeks flushed from the drinks already lining the counter.

Nate, with his scruffy jaw and a shirt that had seen better hours, was her coworker—or ex-coworker, technically, since he’d quit last week. Mia, on the other hand, still worked at the same marketing firm, her sharp wit and effortless charm making her the office favorite. Tonight, her dark curls framed her face, and her fitted dress hugged her curves in a way that made Nate’s gaze linger just a second too long.

“Fine,” Nate said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if I’m not doing tequila, you’re not doing that karaoke song you’ve been threatening all night.” Mia’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, the bartender slid another round of drinks their way. Nate smirked, leaning closer. “Unless, of course, you’re scared.”