Ben widened legs until his left knee grazed Rachel’s. She took a sip of the kombucha she’d snuck into the bar in her purse. Her throat expanded and contracted as she swallowed, and her pale flesh shimmered in the street light that sifted through the oak trees lining the back patio. He watched her lips wrap around the glass bottle. 

“So, you don’t drink,” he said. 

“No,” she wiped her mouth with her fingertips. “Haven’t for almost a year now.”

His beer was warm in the summer heat. Even at night, it was almost 90 degrees with humidity so close his skin fused to his shirt. A sheen of sweat collected across her clavicle. Her knee pressed harder into his. 

“But please, don’t let me stop you,” she placed her hand on his thick thigh. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Her hand triggered a stream of nerves up his leg. “I have some bourbon and air conditioning at my place, if you want to get out of here...”

“You still live over in the Magnolia Building?” she asked.

“No, but just a few doors down.”

She screwed the cap back onto her kombucha bottle and returned it to her purse. He downed his warm beer in three gulps. 

“I can drive,” she said.