“You said you liked it.” “I did?” He nods. “Paxton had asked what you were drinking, and you told him. Then, you told him you liked it. If you don’t like this one, we’ll get you something else.” “No, I do. I just didn’t know you knew….” I leave the trailed-off sentence, though I hate them because my words—like my thoughts—are floundering. His jaw tics, his dark eyes narrowed as he sifts through my thoughts with a penetrating and invasive stare. I question what he finds? What might be revealed tonight when I feel so raw and bare? “Because you’re pretending tonight?” I shake my head. “What?” “If
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