"Half an ounce of simple syrup..." My sight narrowed on the shot glass sitting on the kitchen counter as I leveled my stare to it. I counted each measured notch, my eyes bouncing up each red dash while I threw my memory back to 8th grade math where I'd learned about the Imperial system.
The clear liquid splashed and filled the shot glass halfway before I dumped it all into a bigger glass. Next, whiskey bourbon.
I thought those were two different alcohols?
"Sure you don't need any help?" Jordan called from the couch, piquing my growing annoyance even higher.
"I'm positive."
At hearing the blatant irritation in my own voice, I shot Jordan a fast but small smile before gearing my attention back to the drink.
Picking up the bottle of whiskey and then the bottle of bourbon next to it, I poured one shot of each into the drink before swirling them together. Some strangled noise came from the man on the couch as I mixed the two dark liquors, and I chewed my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from tossing some less than friendly words in Jordan's direction.
He'd been making remarks or obviously judgemental noises since I started practicing drinks for the bar an hour ago. One more comment about my pouring skills and he better be ready to get a drink in his face.
"Wait—this recipe says I need orange bitters," I thought aloud. My eyes jumped over to the fresh orange sitting patiently next to the cutting board. "I'm guessing that means like, freshly squeezed orange juice?"
"Oh my god," Jordan groaned once again, and my jaw clenched in response almost immediately. Just ignore him.
Just ignore him. Take a shot of tequila for strength and then keep ignoring him.
Abiding my brain's suggestion, I poured myself a quick shot of the silver tequila I bought for my practice session and raised the glass to my lips, tipping the bitter taste of regret back into my mouth.
"I may be wrong, but aren't you supposed to be practicing making drinks and not getting wasted on them?" I waited a moment for the burning sensation sliding down my throat to quit so I could speak without coughing.
"I can do both."
Jordan cocked his head to the side. "An admirable feat."
Nodding politely, I gave my attention back to the nearly complete Old fashioned. I palmed the orange and went in search of a knife, eventually finding a sizable one hiding in a kitchen drawer.
"Amber, are you sure you don't want my help with that?"
A very real worry replaced any superior judgement in his voice as he eyed the large knife I held in my hand. Rolling my eyes, I set the orange down on the cutting board.
"I'm not twelve, Jordan. I can use a kitchen knife without supervision."
Placing the blade against the rind of the orange, I pressed down until the orange gave way to the blade, smoothly cutting and splitting the fruit right in half. Pride pulling up on my cheeks as I appraised the inside of the orange, I slid my gaze up to Jordan's watchful stare.
Moving the knife to cut a smaller slice of the orange, I said, "See? I told you I could—gah!"
I cried out as pain sliced through my finger just as the blade of the knife did the same.
"Shit." Jordan's curse was drowned out by the sudden heartbeat building louder between my ears.
I clamped my other hand around my middle finger, squeezing it hard to try and keep the pain from worsening. I tried to focus my attention on anything that wasn't the pressurized pulsing through my fingertip as lines of crimson blood seeped through the cracks of my hand.
YOU ARE READING
Tempting /A Jordan Knight fanfic ✔️
Fanfiction(Completed) All my life, I had worked tirelessly to achieve perfection. Perfection was in my blood, and so was the art of dance. All that hard work had earned me my dream job as a professional dancer at the ripe age of twenty-four, the perfect boyf...
