He furrowed his brow. “You sure, pidge?”
Was that wrong? I squirmed. “This isn’t exactly a lemonade kind of conversation.”
He glanced at my mouth. “Fair enough. A Long Island Iced Tea for the lady, please,” he told the bartender.
She sighed and procured a tall glass of brown liquid.
“Thank you.” I took one sip, then gagged, covering my mouth to avoid spitting it out in front of them. That wasn’t anything like iced tea.
Angel snorted. “Not what you expected?”
I pushed the glass away. “I’ve never had it before.”
“It’s mostly booze. You shouldn’t be able to taste it, though.” He slid his glass over. “Want to try mine? It’s a Negroni: sweet vermouth, Campari, and gin.”
“What’s Campari?” Not that I knew much about the other ingredients.
“A bitter liqueur with citrus notes,” he said with the vague elegance of a server.
I sipped to be polite. It was dark red like a watered-down blood donation. Could they have used blood orange in this? That bitterness was a lot to process. I swallowed and winced.
“Thank you,” I rasped. “Would you like to try mine?”
He smirked. “Not used to drinking, huh?”
I shook my head. “I’ve sipped wine and champagne at weddings. But alcohol in general: the smell, the taste, the sting…it reminds me too much of sterilizing stuff at the hospital.”
“I can see where you’d get that. I thought you liked the hospital, though,” he said, using his tongue to corral the straw to his lips.
It was so nimble. Dexterous, actually.
He quirked an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.
“I do like it. I mean, I did.” I cleared my throat and glanced across the bar to fight the flame in my cheeks. “Kat got me a fruity drink for my twenty-first birthday that wasn’t too bad. I just can’t remember what it was called.”
He nudged my arm. “What’s going on your family situation, anyway? You said you had to drop out to help her with something?”
“Oh, that wasn’t for Kat. She’s pretty independent. We have an older sister, Jen, who got pregnant.”
“And how is that your problem?” he asked, matter-of-fact.
I choked on a laugh. “Uh, she needs help taking care of herself and her kid.”
“You know, lots of single mothers have done it on their own without derailing others’ plans. Mine managed with just the two of us for a bit,” he said.
Well, when he put it like that, Jen probably didn’tneedme. But her situation wasn’t the only reason I dropped my classes.
“It’s complicated,” I said.
He gulped down more of his drink. “It always is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Life is complicated.” He gave me a rueful smile and leaned in, his breath tinged with orange and cherry. “I like to think I was made by immaculate conception.”
That was the most dramatic thing he’d ever said. I bit my lip so as not to smile too big in case it wasn’t a joke, then asked, “Why? Because of your name? Or you don’t like your dad?”
“I don’t know who he is,” he said, his voice strangely light.
