Page 19 of Fake Dating the Prince

Perhaps three-quarters of an hour passed before Flip managed to find himself at a lull. Knowing he only had a few seconds in which to make his escape, he cast about for the nearest exit—

And yelped when an unseen hand dragged him behind one of the Doric columns. “Shh,” Brayden said, eyes sparkling. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Then he pushed Flip ahead of him into the service room behind the bar.

“Have you been drinking?” Flip asked, bemused, as Brayden continued nudging until they stood in front of a long plastic table serving as a prep area.

“Not yet,” Brayden said cheerfully. “Now where’s—there he is.”

A tall blond man entered from the bar and offered a bow. “Your Highness,” he said. “Your escort said you requested this specifically.” He brandished a bottle of Don Julio Reposado.

Brayden beamed. “Isn’t Sven great? Say thank you, Flip.”

“Thank you, Sven,” Flip said dutifully. One of the most important etiquette lessons his mother had drilled home wasDon’t be rude to waitstaff. Then he turned his attention back to Brayden, who had procured a pair of shot glasses and a plate of citrus, presumably from Sven. He placed them on the table.

Flip probably shouldn’t. He had the distinct impression that tequila shots were the territory of frat boys and those who wished to be frat boys. But at some point in the past week, he’d gotten swept up in Brayden’s enthusiasm. If he was going to give it up tomorrow, he wanted to indulge tonight.

“All right. How does this work?”

Sven had disappeared back to wherever he came from. Brayden took a salt shaker and a small canister of cinnamon from his jacket pocket—Flip silently vowed never to tell Bernadette—and lined them up next to the plate. “North American or European style first, do you think?”

Flip considered. “The lemon will taste extra sour after orange, so North American first, to be as objective as possible.”

“Excellent choice.” Brayden poured a generous amount in each glass. “So the order for the North American tequila shot is take the salt, drink the tequila, bite the lemon wedge. But you can’t just dump salt in your mouth. You do it like this.” He brought his hand to his mouth, licked a stripe across the back of it, and upended the salt shaker over his damp skin.

Flip sucked in a sharp breath.

Brayden looked up through his eyelashes. “What, too uncouth for you?”

Flip had a sudden flash of Braden licking the back ofhishand like that if he hesitated too long, and the back of his neck went hot. He copied Brayden’s actions almost defiantly.

“Now, in fairness,” Brayden said, demonstrating how to hold the lemon wedge in the hand with the salt, “this tequila is way too good for this kind of treatment. But they didn’t have any of the paint-stripping kind from my youth, so we’re improvising.”

“Because you’re so ancient,” Flip said dryly.

“My tequila days are many years ago now.” Brayden handed him one of the shot glasses, his expression daring Flip to disagree.

“People years?” Flip queried blandly.

Brayden snorted, and they both had to catch themselves before they had a repeat of the ice cream shop meltdown. “Shut up. Okay, are you ready?”

Probably not. Flip clinked his glass against Brayden’s. “Bottoms up.”

“You’re a menace,” Brayden said, pink-cheeked, and Flip realized the double entendre.

The salt on his tongue made his mouth water, but the tequila went down warm and smooth. The lemon, though, puckered his whole face until he had to shake his head to clear it. “Ugh.”

“Whew,” Brayden agreed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “All right, well, I’m awake now. Your turn. How do we do this the European way?”

Flip spread the cinnamon sugar on the plate, rimmed the glasses, and poured the shots. “There’s no licking involved, I’m afraid.”

“I bet you’ve never done a body shot, huh?” Brayden sighed.

Flip almost dropped the bottle. He’d seen Brayden mostly naked, after all, and he was seeing him again now in his imagination, laid out on his back with a line of salt on his stomach—

No.He turned to hand Brayden his drink. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re not missing out on much. They’re mostly just messy.” Brayden threw back the tequila, hummed thoughtfully, and took his time with the orange. “I like that better. It wouldn’t work half as well with crappy tequila, though.”

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