Tristian calls the bartender over and says, “Try this.” He holds up a drink. It’s ruby red and has two cherries floating on top. “It may be your signature cocktail.” “Oh, I-I probably shouldn’t,” I stammer. Lowering my senses around these guys seems unwise. “Just a sip.” He takes one first and licks his lips. “I think you’d like it. It’s sweet, just like you.”
