“Of course I’m a little loaded,” she said. “But I can handle it. Bourbon and just a — ” she separated thumb and forefinger a fraction — ”just a that-much of soda.” She smiled in a way that said, You can’t refuse if I put it so nicely. He nodded. “A yard of bourbon and an inch of soda.” He went to the kitchen and made a drink that was almost the other way round, hesitated, then made himself one, too. What the hell. He might as well get her number right from the start. And no better time than when she was a little high.
