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“All right, then,” Nick says drily. “Pizza for you both, and no more whiskey.” And this time, he doesn’t give me time to object. His arm slides around my shoulders as he sets us back in motion. I can’t help but think that Abel and I oddly have similar reasons for drinking. He had an obligation to save a client who perhaps didn’t deserve to be saved, much the same as what I felt with my mother.
“How are you this clearheaded?” I ask as we round the counter and Nick pulls out the barstool for me that sits between his spot and Abel’s. “Didn’t you drink with both of us?”
“I drank a pot of coffee,” he explains, indicating the thermal pot on the counter as we both claim our seats.
“He drank his No. 6 with you,” Abel comments, sounding less than pleased. “My bottle is beneath him, and for the record, you better be damn special to score the No. 6 over me.”
“Perhaps he needed No. 6 to deal with my version of crazy today,” I rebut, with the full intention of dodging an awkward bullet.
He laughs and glances at Nick. “Quick-witted. I like that.”
“Until she outwits you—and she will,” Nick assures him.
“Game on,” Abel says, glancing at me. “You know this now, but to make it official, I’m Abel. Especially when I’m not drinking.”
I laugh, finding Abel—the official or not-so-official version—easy to like. “You’re pretty humorous, Abel, especially when you’re not drinking.”
“A perfectly acceptable assessment,” he says, “unless it’s next week when I’m in court.”
“Ah well,” I say. “You might not be funny at all. I’m pretty sure I’m easily amused right now, considering my alcohol intolerance.”
“That’s a horrible condition, I hear,” he says, refilling his glass. “Thank God I don’t have it.”
“As you can see,” Nick interjects. “He’s a phone book of bad jokes, sadly, even when he’s not drinking.”
“My jokes amuse people with a sense of humor,” Abel comments drily, glancing at me. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, Faith, Nick doesn’t have one of those.”
“You know what they say,” Nick replies. “If you can’t be the good-looking one, be the funny one.”
Abel snorts. “If you are implying you’re the good-looking one, then you drank more than I realized.”
Nick offers me his cup in response. “Drink this. None of us need to numb our brains to the kind of stupid Abel’s attempting.”
Smiling at the banter between these two, and also eager to put the whiskey behind me, I sip Nick’s coffee, regretting it as the bitterness hits my tongue. “Oh God,” I murmur, unable to control the intense grimace on my face. “That is horrible.” Both men laugh fairly ferociously, and I shoot glowers between them. “It’s not funny. That might be poison. I don’t know how anyone drinks that.”
“It’s called lots of long work nights and building tolerance,” Nick says. “You’d be surprised how good bad can taste when you need to stay awake and focused.” His cellphone rings where it rests on the counter.
He grabs it and glances at the caller ID, his jaw setting hard as he stands back up. “I need to take this.” Apparently, that translates to alone, because he’s already exiting the kitchen.
“And then there were two,” Abel says dramatically, pattering fingers on the table, as if creating music. “Don’t worry,” he adds. “I do awkward small talk better than the average guy. For instance, I hear you’re not only an artist but that you made a big sale last night. Congrats.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling a bit taken aback and awkward that he knows about my payday. “I guess Nick has been talking.”
“Bragging,” he says.
A warm spot forms in my chest with the realization that Nick doesn’t just support me when he’s with me, but even when he is not. “That’s nice to hear.”
“Nice,” he repeats. “Nice and Nick don’t really want to compute for me, but maybe it’s the whiskey. What are you going to do to celebrate your payday?”
Pay back Nick a chunk of the money he paid the bank, I think, but that’s none of his business, so I settle on a generic, “Pay bills.”
“Huh. A new car or even shoes would be a sexy celebration. Bills. Not so sexy.”
“Sexy has never been on the top of my priority list,” I say. “And paying bills is much sexier than not paying bills.”
“That’s true,” he says. “And I’m sure Nick will help you celebrate anyway.”
“He did that by being with me at the gallery last night.”
