When the glasses were refilled, Jo studied them for a moment, trying to remember exactly which shot she was on. Finally, she realized it didn't matter and just downed another without thinking about it while sending a smile towards the redhead. "Likewise," and followed it up with a nod.

Picking up the next glass, she shot Clint another almost-glare, but didn't respond right away. Her dad's knife appeared from her boot and as she drank down the vodka, her arm whipped out to one side, wrist flicking to throw it behind her. It hit a chair on the other side of the room dead center in the back of it, and she set the glass down again to offer him a smile. "Always." She'd been practicing since the day he'd showed her how he could hit something without looking, and she had finally mastered it with her knife only that morning. Standing, she forced herself to keep from swaying from the effects of the alcohol, then turned and headed for the knife to retrieve it.

Having her back to them gave her a chance to cover up the faint blush she could feel spreading across her cheeks in embarrassment at the come ons from both, and by the time she returned and sat again, she was smirking a little.

"I was raised in a saloon, Clint. Trust me when I say nothing's ever on the house." She winked lightly, then grinned over at Tasha again.