“You hate it.” “No! Not at all. It’s great! Beer at an Oktoberfest in the mountains? What else could you ask for?” I have to fight a full-out laugh when she attempts a second sip, a smile on her lips but a look of panic in her eyes. “Olivia, give it to me.” “What? No! Why?” She moves the cup over, like she’s attempting to hide it from me, like she’s not half my size and I can’t just reach over and grab it. “We’ll get you something you like. Dark beer? Cider? Apple juice?” She scoffs. “I’m not a child, Andre. I can drink.” “Then give me the fuckin cup and tell me what you want to drink.”
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