“Thank God, you look better,” said Sky, palming my cheek, then my forehead. He kissed my lips, and I appreciated his tender concern. “You’ve regained some of your color, but I think you still might need that drink.”
“I won’t question your prescription, Doctor Novak.”
He stepped to the mini-bar. “Okay, name your poison. I have whiskey, Scotch, vodka, gin, maybe some—”
“Yes.”
Sky offered a weak laugh. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“You think I’m kidding?”
“I pray that you are.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I am. But I certainly wouldn’t mind getting stinking drunk right about now.”
“Why do that to yourself? You have a good head on your shoulders, so you shouldn’t drown your brain in alcohol.”
“My brain is already on the fritz. I’m sure I fried even more circuits just now after seeing…him.”