“It’s your funeral, I suppose. You better give the bartender your keys, though, or me, if I’m supposed to be your drinking partner now.”
“Takes a little more than that to kill me.” He slid a glass toward her. “Depends. Can you keep up?”
“Probably not, sadly. But I can sit by you and drink other things while you carry on; I don’t mind.” She spun the glass under her fingertips. “I hope you’re not one of those tiresome people who insists, because you’ll be carrying me out of here quite quickly if you do.”
