Reparation (The Kane Trilogy, #3)(21)

“I wondered if you would make me a drink.”

Tate was shocked. Sanders didn't drink. As far as she knew, he had never drank. Along side Jameson, he had been to world famous night clubs and top-of-the-line bars and the best wineries in Europe, but he didn't drink.

“Why?” she asked. He shrugged, his eyes not meeting hers.

“I have never done it. I have been curious about it for a long time. There is no one else I would trust enough to do it with,” he replied in a bored voice. She felt all warm inside. Her? Not Jameson?

Take that, Satan.

“Sandy, you're so sweet to me. Alright! What'll it be? You are dealing with South Boston's best bartender!” she said, clapping her hands together.

“I was hoping you could suggest something. I have never done this before,” he reminded her. She laughed and turned to the cupboards, searching for shakers and glasses.

“Hmmm, let's see. Perfect drink ..., well, you look like a sexy James Bond, so how about a martini. Shaken, not stirred,” she did a crap Sean Connery impression.

“I do not look like James Bond.”

“A sexy James Bond, I said.”

It was his first time drinking, and she didn't want to get him wasted. Plus, she wasn't about to let him drink alone, and she didn't want to get drunk, either. So she made the drinks light. The martini didn't go over very well – she didn't understand the appeal, herself. So she tried a Manhattan. He informed her that it was tolerable. After that, she switched it up and made him a Mojito.

“Jameson likes Long Island Iced Teas,” Sanders commented. She raised her eyebrows.

“I'm not making you that, you'd be on the floor. How about Sex on the Beach?” she teased, winking at him. He cleared his throat and looked away.

He said it was by far his favorite. Huh, Sanders liked girly drinks. Who would've thought? She made him a Tequila Sunrise after that, but then cut him off. She could see the effects. They had been at it for a while, she had spaced them out and made him take his time, fed him pretzels and made him a sandwich. But it was still clear that he was a little toasted.

“Is it normal for your lips to be numb?” he asked, staring at the wall behind her. His speech was still clipped, but his voice was soft, his eyelids heavy. His features relaxed. Small things to a normal person, huge things for Sanders. She laughed and sank into a chair across from him, putting her feet up on an ottoman.

“Yeah, sometimes that happens to me, too. How are your toes?” she asked. He glanced down at his shiny shoes.

“Toes?”

“Mine tingle sometimes, when I drink. Fingertips, toes, lips, all that good stuff. How's your vision?” she went on. He shrugged.

“Perfect.”

“I meant,” she laughed, “are you seeing double yet? Things a little blurry?”

“No. Should they be?”

“Not necessarily. So is it everything it's cracked up to be?” she asked. He shrugged again.

“I'm not sure I see the appeal. I feel like I am stuck in slow motion. How does anyone get anything done like this?” he said, his words coming out slow. She laughed again.

“You're not supposed to get anything done. You do it to relax, have fun, be brave, whatever,” she told him.

“Brave?”

“Liquid courage. Makes you uninhibited, makes you do things you wouldn't normally do,” she explained.

“Like take a whole bottle of xanax and swim in a pool?”

He could've hit her and she would've been less shocked. She licked her lips.

“Yes, things like that,” she whispered. His eyes finally met hers, and he stared right into her.

“That's not very courageous, or brave,” he commented.

“I know. Sometimes, alcohol can make you the stupidest fu-cking person on the block,” she managed a laugh.

“I was very upset with you. You worried me,” he told her, his voice full of bite. Another shock.

“I'm sorry, Sandy. I wasn't in my right mind. I won't ever do that again,” she replied, staring back at him. He looked angry. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look angry.

“And Jameson ..., I was so upset with him. Angry. I was angry at him,” Sanders stressed. Tate nodded.

“I know. Me, too.”

“But I have forgiven him. Why can't you?” he demanded.

“See, this is that uninhibited thing I was talking about,” she pointed out. He waved his hand in the air.

“I was counting on this,” he replied. “Why can't you forgive him?”

“I'm trying, Sandy. I really am. You know, don't you, that I wanted to hurt him, too, like I wanted to hurt Ang,” Tate said softly. He nodded.

“I had figured that much out. I just couldn't quite understand why. You said you forgave him, for Petrushka, for his cruelty,” he explained, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. She had never seen him in such a relaxed posture.

“I know. I lied. I didn't believe him. I don't know if I believe him, now. I just can't stop feeling this way. Like, why was Pet in Spain? Did he tell her he was there? Did he tell her what night club we would be at? When we were going to the apartment? And Ellie and Ang. I refuse to believe he didn't know about that – how could he not!? I mean, he booked them onto a plane he paid for! He keeps things from me, he messes with my head, and I -,” she started to ramble, and could feel her blood pressure rise as the memories flooded into her brain. Sanders held up a hand.