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“That is rude, smoky, and bad for somebody in expensive makeup.”

“Thank you.”

She took another sip. “‘The White Lighter’ is a very good name.”

“I know.”

“It’s also a cursed name.”

“We work in a place where one of the cocktails is literally called Exit Wound.”

“That one doesn’t imply a musician died in a hotel bathtub.”

“Valid.”

Layla turned the glass slightly, looking at the black float on top. “What’s in the ash?”

Hakeem opened his mouth.

Paused.

Looked at the deli container in his own hand.

Then he said, much more slowly, “Activated charcoal. Sugar. Salt.”

Layla’s expression changed instantly. “Oh, absolutely not.”

“What?”

“You cannot serve activated charcoal to the mesh-top divorce women.”

“Why not?”

She stared at him.

Then, with the exhausted patience of a woman forced to parent a child who was covered in marker, she said, “Because some of them would like their birth control to keep working tonight, Hakeem.”

He stared at Layla, the implication hitting him a second too late. “Oh, my God.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yes.”

He looked down at the drink like it had personally betrayed him. “I am so thoughtless.”

“Activated charcoal is infamous, Hakeem. I’m pretty sure that had something to do with my conception.” She said this casually, while picking at her chipped, lime-green nail polish.

“That feels like something the menu should have warned me about. Why on Earth does Tabbi keep this around?”

“You know Tabbi. Gots to play it fast and loose to keep us on our toes.”

He set the glass down with deep offense. “So I have accidentally invented a contraceptive saboteur.”

“You have invented a liability.”

“Yes…but a sexy liability.”