He looked up at the waitress, who was a pretty girl about my age or a little older, probably Native American, with her long black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. “The margarita flatbread…and a glass of the same thing she is having.”
The girl smiled and made a note of his order, although she didn’t ask for his identification, and then told us she’d be out with our drinks in a little bit. After she’d gone, I said, “Living dangerously?”
“Perhaps. As you said, one glass should not have any seriously deleterious effects, not based on my body mass.”
I winked at him. “Next time we can order a bottle and see what happens.”
That remark earned me a pained glance, but he didn’t reply, instead sipping at his water. “I’ve never understood the human urge to destroy so many brain cells on purpose.
