"What?" Beckett asks, lowering one of her hands to cup around the shell of her ear in a mocking gesture. Her smile's still evident, though, as she pretends she's having trouble hearing him. "I couldn't hear you over how awesome my music is."

Once again, she goes for the bottle, ignoring her glass altogether, her body still moving in time to the drummer's steady tempo as she continues to dance with it in hand, the whiskey giving her confidence about singing in front of him an added boost: "And I think everything is going to be alright no matter what we do tonight," she croons, stepping in until one bare foot clumsily prods his shoe-covered one. She moves in and even dares to breathe, and there's an accompanying whisper of fabric as her tank top brushes his button-down in the time it takes her to blink up at him, slowly, her pupils dilating wildly.