“For how long?” he wants to know.
“I don’t think that matters.”
When the bartender places another glass in front of me, I reach for it and miss. I catch it on the second try, and swallow it down before it can get away. The alcohol buzzes through me like electricity, igniting my nerves even as it dulls my senses. I have to turn towards Paul to remember what he looks like. Oh yes, full red beard, black eyes, a faint dusting of fine hair combed over the top of his balding scalp. Younger than I imagined he was when he sat across the room. My age maybe, a few years older. “Listen,” I say, leaning against him. The hand on my thigh slips into my lap to cop a quick feel. With what I hope is an irresistible smile, I murmur, “Like the song goes, I’m just talking about tonight, you know what I’m saying?”