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coming to his office to bring it up again. I mean, he already knew.
    “Okay. Done,” he said.
    Well, that was easy.
    “Oh, thanks.” I tried to smile, but it was hard because I knew what was coming next and it was lame.
    I trudged into his office, but tried to be sexy about it. I perched myself on his desk, showing off a little leg. Riley watched me with great interest, studying my legs as though lives depended on it.
    “Um, want to grab some lunch?” I offered.
    He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
    “Uh-huh.” I dabbed lightly on my sweaty chest, just as Porcha had instructed, then flung my hair. “It’s so hot in the kitchen. I’m dying.”
    Riley flinched his jaw, gazing from my sweaty tank top, back to my legs, then up into my eyes. “Do you really want to play this card?”
    My stomach dropped. “What card?”
    “The one you’re playing, Jones. ‘Cause I’ll give you what you want. You want Saturdays off to be with your family, you want an air conditioner?—I’ll give them to you. But don’t mess around with me, Jones. You mess around with me and you’re going to have to back it up.”
    As if to prove his point, he lightly skimmed my legs with his rough, hot “Riley” hands, making me jump off his desk with a yelp.
    The move had my pulse racing and my heart jerking all spastic and wild, but he totally only instigated the move to make a point. And he made it. Loud and clear.
    “Okay. I get it. I’m sorry,” I said all contrite and stuff, only then added kind of whiny, “But, Riley, it’s hot.”
    He opened the door for me. “Work, Jones.”
    The weird thing was, not much later that night, a delivery man came in with a brand new air conditioner. Everyone patted me on the back and called me their hero, but I wasn’t even sure the air conditioner had anything to do with me. For all I knew, Riley had already ordered it. He probably had. Still, I accepted their gratitude and sat with a group of them huddled in a booth—at their request (shock!)—when my shift was over.
    Aiden, The Hot Bartender (that’s what we called him, since we also had Aiden, The Not-Hot Busboy), squeezed into the seat beside me.
    He whispered in my ear, kind of seductive-like, “Let me buy you a drink.”
    I choked on the French fry I’d just popped in my mouth. Did I mention Aiden was hot? And twenty-two?
    Now he was looking at me all: Why-hadn’t-I-ever-noticed-you-before? And: I-want-to-stick-my-tongue-down-your-throat- like.
    I choked again and took a sip of my water. “Um, I don’t drink.”
    I was also going to blurt out that I was only seventeen and had a boyfriend, but I wasn’t really sure that conversation was quite relevant to the situation. Besides, sadly, I could also add I had a Free Pass. But sigh. I didn’t want to. That was just too depressing to talk about.
    “I’ll make you a virgin creation,” he said. “No alcohol—just for you.”
    I beamed. “Okay.”
    Wow. I watched him hurry off, totally amazed. He was being so nice. Everyone was. Apparently, it totally, totally paid to have an air conditioner show-up right after humiliating yourself with the boss. Who knew?
    Aiden’s drink was really good. So good. When he saw me slurp it down, he smiled and quickly brought me another. Then he started bringing me more—different variations—one after the other. All awesome. I chugged them down, slurring, “Keep ‘em coming!”
    At some point, Aiden smiled, tilting his head. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
    “No, no,” I protested—really loud. Really, really loud. Not sure why.
    It just seemed necessary as the world was kind of tilting and spinning and reminding me of a roller coaster where you have to speak really loud to the person next to you or they can’t hear what you’re saying. “Your drinks are so good, Aiden. I love them. And I love your eyes, and that little hat thing you wear, and—and wow, it’s getting hot in here—and spinny—don’t you think it’s spinny?”
    Aiden