"You don't know how much I'd expect you can drink," he retorted, with a half look of smugness. "Judging from the looks of you, one might guess you don't drink anything at all. And when you do, it's beer, or wine coolers. The lighter stuff." Setting his glass onto the counter, Tina reached over to turn off the burner the chicken was one, then leaned his hip against the counter. "But knowing you, I'd say you can be a straight up whiskey shooter. The kinda girl who makes a passing remark in a bar about how much you drink, and some asshole tells you you're full of shit, and you prove him wrong. Big time."