Chapter 7: Ginger Beer

Miss R called Luke in again the next day and handed him a schedule scribbled on a post-it note when he walked in. "Does this work for you?"

Luke studied it and nodded. The late-night weekend hours gave him an excuse not to go to weekend services, the longest and most grueling ones, wherein the Herald gave an hour-and-a-half sermon about everything that Luke had already heard growing up—vampires were demons sent to Earth to corrupt good people. Feeders were a menace to The Faith and if he found out anyone was a Feeder they'd be cast away from the church. God came to him in a vision to tell him that women wearing jeans was a sin, or some other trivial guideline for the members to follow.

He had a couple of days off in a row, and with the money he made at the bar, he could spend those days shopping for clothes that weren't hand-me-downs from other members of The Faith or shoes that didn't have worn-smooth tread, he could pay for an actual haircut instead of his hack-job, or he could buy Whitney flowers every once in a while as a good Pair should.

Luke stood at the bar and did a bad job convincing himself that he didn't care whether or not Abel showed up. He had a lot that he needed to say to Abel to make himself feel better, but that didn't mean that Abel ever wanted to associate with him again.

The look on his face haunted Luke all night and replayed through his lunch with Whitney, where he'd sat absentminded and guilty, fearing that she would bring up that someone saw Abel.

Luke poured beers and made simple drinks with some level of competency, and he even saw Miss R give him what might have been a proud expression when he successfully made a cosmopolitan for a regular customer—a woman with teal eyeshadow and powder pink lips who winked at Luke when he handed it over.

He wiped excess moisture out of a few glasses and glanced over to the door a dozen times more than he wanted to acknowledge. One time that he did, he straightened up and his heart jumped.

Abel met his eye and smiled, giving a small wave as he crossed to an open seat at the bar. "Hey, Luke," he said, swiveling on the barstool and adjusting the hem of his familiar black hoodie.

"Hey," Luke said, looking worriedly at the other patrons to make sure that no one needed him before he got too caught up talking to Abel.

"How's your night been?" Abel asked, acting like nothing was off as he crossed his arms on the bar top.

"It's been fine," Luke said, settling in place in front of him. "I haven't messed up anyone's drink in a couple of days, so."

Abel's brows rose. "Really?"

Luke, who'd meant it as a joke, felt self-conscious as he nodded.

"That's great news, you're learning quick," Abel said.

The earnestness in his expression made heat spread over Luke's face.

"Can I order something?" he asked eagerly.

"Yeah, but if it's something hard then Miss R has to make it," Luke said, wary.

"Can I get a virgin Moscow mule?" Abel asked, and then airily added, "I'm not trying to drink on my day off."

Luke frowned as the recipe for a Moscow mule slogged through his head. "Can you make a virgin Moscow mule? I thought it was mainly ginger beer."

"Ginger beer is non-alcoholic," Abel said, a tell-tale twitch at the corners of his mouth as he held back a smile.

Luke blinked at him. "Is it really?"

The smile broke through Abel's defenses. "Yeah, it's just soda."

Luke covered his face in embarrassment, head hanging.

Abel laughed good-naturedly.

"I'll make it, just give me a second," Luke mumbled, not looking directly at Abel before he turned to get a bottle of ginger beer, a lime, and some mint leaves. It was a simple mix, and Luke wasn't so inept that squeezing some lime into a copper mug—a special mug just for mules, he'd learned the hard way after a patron had mentioned it the previous night—and then pouring in some soda was too much to handle.

He set it down in front of Abel.

Abel met his eye as he took a sip, and Luke's hands flexed at his sides, his blood electric in his veins from Abel's gaze. "It's good!" he said with a decided nod.

Luke sighed in relief, his hand on his chest.

"Have you tried this before?" Abel asked.

"No, I thought ginger beer was actual beer," Luke said, feeling so stupid as he said so.

"Oh right, you guys aren't supposed to drink, huh?" he said, casual as anything.

Luke bristled; he wasn't sure if Abel was going to bring up The Faith or not.

"Here, try it," he said, nudging the mug towards him.

With another cautious glance at Miss R, who didn't seem aware of his existence in the slightest, Luke picked up the mug and took a drink. The tart lime balanced out the sweet, fizzy soda in a nice, mild flavor. "Yeah, I like it," he said, putting it down again.

Abel's expression looked tentative for a moment.

Luke knew to brace himself for his next words.

"So, you tried my drinks the other day, is that okay?" Abel asked.

"Yeah, I'm not—" Luke's jaw clenched for a moment, and his voice lowered as he continued, "I was born into The Faith, but I don't—I mean I'm not strict about any of their rules or anything."

Abel nodded, not breaking focus on Luke.

Luke's eyes went downcast and his voice even quieter. "I think it's—I don't really believe in most of it anymore."

"Do you not want to talk about it?" Abel asked, genuine and patient.

"No, it's fine," Luke said, stubbornness overtaking before he had a chance to really consider the question.

Still, Abel hesitated for another second before he asked, "So, are you married?"

Luke looked at him with a furrowed brow. "What?"

Abel looked pointedly at his left hand and noticed the lack of a ring on his finger. "I thought you guys got married when you're like seventeen or something."

A spark of irritation lit in Luke and his ears went red. "No, we're assigned a Pair when we're sixteen and we're supposed to marry them when we're older." Now that he said it aloud to a stranger, it sounded crazy.

"Damn," Abel said lowly. "But, so—You're in a Pair, right?"

"Yeah." The word felt like dust falling from his dry mouth. He didn't want to tell Abel about it. He wished he would've nipped the conversation in the bud already. "But she and I are—It's not serious, it's more like we're friends, I guess."

Abel nodded, slow and measured. The way he looked at Luke made his skin crawl with nerves.

Luke was silent and tense, and his skin felt hot with anxiety and embarrassment under Abel's attention.

"Was that insensitive to ask?" Abel asked, his face looking troubled, another completely new expression to Luke.

Luke considered the question properly this time in a pause, and then said, "I don't know. You already asked, so it's fine."

"Sorry, I've just never actually met someone who was part of The Faith," Abel said, rubbing the back of his head.

Luke shrugged noncommittally.

Abel took a sip of his drink again and then rested both of his hands around the mug, long fingers curved around the hammered pattern. "I've always just heard about it, like everyone in it were crazy cult members."

"It's not a cult," Luke shot out, his temper flaring.

Abel's brows rose and a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure?" he asked wryly.

Luke exhaled sharply and looked away from him. The objection poured from him instinctively, but he knew that Abel was right. He didn't want to say it aloud. He felt humiliated that Abel knew that part of him, that he had some kind of preconceived notion about the type of person he was just because of The Faith's reputation.

"Listen, Luke," Abel started again, this time careful and sincere, "I don't think less of you because you're in The Faith or anything."

Luke's tight posture relaxed a bit.

"I just want to get to know you and who you actually are," he said, fingers tapping the sides of his mug. "I don't care if you're in The Faith or not."

Luke's head whirred around his words. Before he could catch up, Abel spoke again.

"Do you want to come over when you're done with work? I'll still be up for a while after three," Abel said, dimples framing his friendly smile.

"I can't," Luke said without pause, the weight of the words not quite sinking in until he saw disappointment color Abel's eyes.

"I'll just catch you here some other time, then," Abel said, undeterred. He drank the watery remnants in the mug and slid it towards Luke.

"Yeah, okay," Luke said, still one step behind Abel, stunned by the fact that he showed interest in Luke, and doubly so that he wanted to spend time with him. He forced his voice out of his throat and said, "Bye, see you."

"Yeah, see you," Abel said over his shoulder as he slid a ten-dollar bill across the counter to Miss R without breaking his stride to the door.

Stress filled Luke and he rubbed across his forehead. Talking to Abel was so strange, so taxing, but as he stared at the door after him, he wished that he didn't have to leave yet.