"It's called 'Whiskey Slap,'" she repeated over the din of the bar. "Want to play?"
I looked up from the eye-catching neckline of her dress to her long eyelashes slowly batting while they waited for an answer. I followed her slender arm down to the full shot glass she held in her hand. I wasn't entirely sober, but I wasn't drunk. I could hear my buddies behind me already starting to guff.
"Uh, sure. How do you play?" I asked.
"You drink this shot and I slap you across the face before you swallow it."
Perplexed, I looked back and forth several times between her supple red lips and the whiskey. I felt an awkward quiver in my groin. "Sure," I heard myself say. The boys behind me sucked in a collective breath.
My fingers brushed the smooth skin of her hand as I took the glass from her. I hesitated a moment holding the whiskey between us and staring at her. We were close enough for me to feel the heat radiate off her smooth pale skin. She gave me a dazzling smile and subtle nod.
I threw back the whiskey and tasted the familiar bite on my tongue but before it continued its planned journey down my throat, the force of her palm struck my cheek. I pursed my lips and managed to not spit out the drink, save a few drops that dribbled down my chin. As the sting of her slap began to fade, I pushed the liquid to the back of my mouth and swallowed. My head spun. I realized my eyes were closed as a howl erupted behind me joined by a female chorus of cheers a few tables away.
I opened my eyes and was greeted by a gorgeous grin and her arms coming toward me. She embraced me in a hug. Her hair smelled like strawberries. I remained awkwardly motionless, my arms at my sides. She took the glass from my hand and handed me a napkin. I clenched my fists and jammed them in my pockets, blushing and trying to think of something to say. But before I could, she turned and walked back to rejoin her friends.
