"At a gas station." I take out the six-pack in the bag, grab a can, open it, and hand it to her.
Malia stares at the beer in my hand, giving me a questioning look. "I'm eighteen—um nineteen. I can't drink."
"I'm pretty sure that's a lie. You must've had some beer in college. And I saw you having one tonight at the club."
She swallows, her cheeks going red. She turns away. "I don't know what you're talking about. Also, didn't you say I'm not of legal drinking age yet?" Her tone has returned to normal now.
"You look like you could use a drink."
"Yeah, well, I don't think beer is going to be enough. Maybe you should've just gotten me some vodka."
"Don't push your luck, passerotta." I start retracting my hand. "If you don't want the beer, then I'll just—"
She grabs the can from my hand so quickly. "If you insist."
