"I am, far more than before you guys began helping, but—"
"But with all that extra sleep, you're looking worse."
"I don't need any more sleep!" I said angrily, then tried diversion, "Been on a date?"
"Yes, but I thought I'd better check on you." She moved close to the desk, and I remembered the last time we'd been alone, in the bar. Now I was glad I wasn't drunk.
"What the devil are you up to?"
She pawed through the desk drawers. "Finding what you tried to hide—"
"Wait, Frank!" I yelled, too late.
She looked at the bottle, then me, with a strange expression: a little pity—not patronizing—but mostly feminine understanding. "Soda pop? Of course. You don't like alcohol, do you?"
"No." Gruffly.