“Two Diet Cokes,” I said to Jess in the Queen’s Head.
“What are you, ill?”
“Just pour them.”
“You know you can’t bring children in here at this time of night.”
“Save the comedy for open mike night, please.” I slapped down the money, not in the mood for jokes, suddenly nervous as hell. Was I sweating again? I hadn’t taken long enough to cool down after my shower before getting dressed. I hated that I sweat too much. I should probably see a doctor about it. Is it an age thing? Or a weight thing?
I took the two diet pops to a table in clear view of the door and waited. I sipped mine. So sweet. Maybe I should get used to it, though. Alcohol was fattening. I’m not saying I’m a big drinker, but I like a pint or two. Or three. But you get to the age where you can’t get away with it any more,
