Intemperance X - the Life We Choose
Copyright© 2026 by Al Steiner
Chapter 9: Driver’s Seat
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 9: Driver’s Seat - INTEMPERANCE X is the tenth and final novel in the main Intemperance series. As the band headlines its biggest moment yet, decades of music, loyalty, and hard-earned love converge on one unforgettable night—where everything they’ve built is tested in front of the world.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual BiSexual Fiction
Kingsley Manor
January 19, 2005
The table was a pleasant sprawl of half-empty wine glasses, the remains of Westin’s roast chicken and rosemary potatoes, and Kira’s crayon masterpiece shoved just far enough from her plate to keep grease off the paper. Cap had bailed halfway through to watch cartoons. Caydee followed as soon as she’d scraped her plate clean.
Yami was still at the table, leaning forward with both elbows planted. “I was thinking lemon curry chicken for Saturday,” she said. “The way my mother makes it—but it has to be proper. Fresh masala, no shortcuts. And the chiles—I can’t get the right ones here. I’ll have to improvise.”
Laura looked intrigued. Yami had been asked to prepare the Saturday meal for the Kingsleys and the Ramirez family. “They’ve never had Indian food?”
“Not even fake Indian,” Yami said. “They asked for the experience. But Juanita”—she said the name like it was a culinary title—”Juanita is almost a master chef when it comes to Mexican cuisine. I can’t serve her anything half-assed. It has to be good.”
Jake smiled a bit. Yami had likely never used the term ‘half-assed’ before moving in with the Kingsleys and becoming indoctrinated in their ways. It was good to see her learning the proper use of American idioms.
Westin, who was supposed to be off Saturday, looked positively giddy. “We’re doing this. I’ll help even if I’m not on the clock. We can go hardcore—do the naan, the chutney, the whole spread.”
“Can I just have pizza while everyone is eating the yucky food?” Kira asked.
“Kira Misra,” Yami barked. “That ‘yucky food’ is the cuisine of your heritage. Traditional fare that dates back more than a dozen generations. You will give it the respect it deserves and you will eat every bite put on your plate.”
Kira gave an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, Mummy,” she said reluctantly. Jake then heard her mutter, “it’s still yucky food.”
Jake smiled and did not rat her out. He thought it very amusing that of everyone in the house, it was the actual Indian girl who disliked Indian food. That was irony, as his niece Chase would say, not having it rain on your fucking wedding day. He had no opinion on the turf war of flavors, but was already looking forward to Yami’s meal. “Are you going to make that bread you made last time?” he asked.
“That would be the naan,” Yami said. “And yes.”
“Badass,” Jake said with satisfaction. He stood, stretching. “Cognac?” he offered to the table. Celia raised her glass in a lazy yes; Laura nodded without looking up from pouring the rest of the wine.
Jake had just reached the bar when his phone buzzed. Serena’s name lit the screen. Steve Masterson’s assistant—the woman he may or may not be boning. Jake was leaning toward was boning.
He answered. “Hey. Tell me you’ve got something.”
Her voice was brisk. “We’ve identified the primary mole. Caught him in the act tonight—on camera, with the monitoring software recording everything.”
Jake straightened. “Who?”
“Seth Daltry.”
Jake knew exactly who she was talking about. He knew every last one of the regular guards by name and position. “Seth? The swing shift supervisor?”
“That’s him,” Serena said. “Every week for the past two years, he’s been pulling the gate access logs to a personal thumb drive. Same night, same pattern, every time. Tonight we got him clean.”
Jake leaned against the bar, frowning. “Damn. I always thought he was a decent guy. Good with the team. Never gave me an ounce of trouble.”
“I don’t get it,” Serena said. “If it’s the Watcher buying this stuff—and it probably is—why the hell would they even want access logs?”
Jake let out a slow breath. “They tell you who comes and goes. Dates, times, repeat visitors. You can track patterns—when someone’s in town, when they’re not, how long they stayed...” He stopped mid-sentence.
“What?” Serena asked.
Jake rubbed his forehead. “If they’ve got Seth sending this to them, they’ve already got a record that Drew came in last week.”
“And?”
“And tomorrow I’m supposed to fly him to San Francisco to meet with Jen Collins,” Jake said, his tone tightening. “That means another entry and exit in the logs—fresh proof he’s moving around with me right before the Chronicle runs a piece with his name all over it.”
Serena was quiet for a beat. “So they could start connecting dots.”
Jake’s mind was already working ahead. “Yeah. And once they’re looking, they’ll start leaning on Seth for more than just a spreadsheet. We’ve got to think about what this means for a bit.”
“We?” Serena asks. “I’m not sure what...”
“Not you,” Jake said. “We meaning me and mine. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Should we bring Seth in for questioning tomorrow? Or do you want to see if we can turn him?”
“Turn him?”
“Classic counterespionage,” she said. “Because that is what we’re dealing with here, Jake. This is industrial espionage. We can put the pressure on Seth and get him working for us. We can tailor whatever information we want him to release so it says what you want it to say.”
“Wow,” Jake said, shaking his head. “This is a record label, not the fuckin’ CIA.”
“Business is war,” Serena said. “That’s what they say anyway.”
“And apparently we’re the ones hiding WMDs,” Jake said dryly. “No espionage. Leave him where he’s at until we figure out what to do. In the meantime, I think I need to do something I never thought I would have to do.”
“What’s that?” Serena asked.
“Invite a slimeball pap motherfucker to spend the night at my house.”
Jake found Laura and Celia in the living room, both with cognac snifters in hand. Caydee was sprawled in the armchair with a sketchpad. Sean was in the background, polishing the piano lid like he held a grudge against it.
“I need Drew to stay here overnight,” Jake said.
Three heads turned toward him.
“You what?” Laura asked.
Celia’s mouth tightened. “As in Drew Conners? That sleazy pap?”
“The same,” Jake said.
Caydee’s head came up. “You mean the douchebag who took those lying-ass pictures?”
Jake nodded.
“Eww,” Caydee said. “Why would we let him in our house?”
Sean’s cloth froze mid-wipe. “I’m with the kid.”
Jake held up a hand. “Listen. I just got off the phone with Serena. The mole at the Campus is Seth Daltry—the swing shift supervisor. Steve and Serena caught him red-handed tonight, pulling gate access logs to a personal thumb drive. Been doing it every week for two years.”
Laura’s brows rose. “And you think the Watcher’s behind it?”
Jake nodded. “Makes the most sense. Those logs tell them exactly who comes and goes—dates, times, patterns. And here’s the problem. Drew came in last week, and he hasn’t left. Not officially anyway. Right now, the Watcher might not be looking for him. But once the Chronicle runs the pictures and his testimony, they’ll dig back, see when he arrived, and start leaning on Seth for confirmation he’s still around. Our story is going to be that he showed up at the Campus because he felt guilty and wanted to apologize. I let him in so I could chew his ass and then kicked his ass back out. The guards must’ve forgotten to log the exit. Happens all the time. No proof that he was here beyond that day. At least not now.”
Celia leaned back, frowning. “And tomorrow, you’re taking him to San Francisco.”
“Exactly,” Jake said. “That trip would give them a fresh movement in the logs right before the article hits. Big red flag. Proves he’s been staying there the whole time. That’s harder to explain away. But if I bring him here tonight under the excuse I forgot something I needed to work on, it’s nothing out of the ordinary—I’ve done it before, no one remarks on it. Tomorrow, no one sees him leave. No suspicious entry or exit on interview day.”
The three of them digested that.
“How are you going to get him off The Campus without the guards logging it?” Laura asked.
Jake grinned. “This is the fun part. I’m going to stick his ass in my trunk and drive him out that way.”
“All the way home?” Caydee asked.
“Maybe,” Jake said, his grin bigger now. “And maybe I’ll take Dobbins Road instead of the 101. You know, that bumpy-ass road that winds back and forth out of the hills?”
“You are soooo devious, Jake,” Sean said, visibly impressed.
“Thank you,” Jake said. “And don’t worry. The snooping fuck is not going to set foot inside these walls. I’m putting his ass in that little shed with the pool motor and all the extra chemicals.”
Caydee perked up. “And we should turn the pool heater on! That makes it really hot and really loud in there.”
Jake narrowed his eyes. “And how would you know that, since that building is off-limits to little redheaded girls when they’re playing outside without supervision?”
Caydee gave him an innocent look. “I’m just assuming. I’d never go in there. Besides, it’s locked and I don’t know the code.”
Jake, who knew the code was 1-2-3-4, made a mental note to change it in the morning.
Laura set down her glass. “No. Scum-sucking pap or not, he’s a guest in this house. He gets a guest room, he eats breakfast with us in the morning, and we’re polite.”
“Oh, come on, Lala,” Celia whined.
“Yeah!” Caydee said. “He’s a fuckin’ pap.”
“He is a guest in our home and will be treated as such,” she said firmly. “We are the Kingsleys. We have class and decorum and we will not descend into barbarism even in a situation such as this.”
There was a beat of reluctant agreement.
Laura added, “I assume, however, that you’ll strip search him for any photographic device before he leaves the Campus.”
Jake gave her a thin smile. “Count on it.”
“Can I go with you, Daddy?” Caydee asked.
“Why would you want to, mija?” Celia asked her.
“To see Daddy stuff a pap asshole in his trunk,” she said simply. “Duh.”
Jake nodded. “Fair enough,” he told his daughter. “You’re riding shotgun.”
He went into the office and picked up the landline, thumbing the speed dial for the Campus kitchen. If anyone was still hanging around this late, it’d be Charlie and the rhythm section.
It rang twice before Charlie’s voice came on, cheerful and slightly too loud. “Campus kitchen.”
“Charlie, it’s Jake.”
“Oh hey, man,” Charlie said. “I was thinking about you.”
“Were you?” Jake asked carefully, already feeling creeped out. A new record in talking with Charlie on the phone.
“Yeah. You ever wonder if, like ... doing a lot of anal sex over the years could make you, you know, kinda ... loose inside? Like, you hit your forties and all of a sudden you can’t trust a fart?”
Jake stared at the receiver for a beat. “That’s an oddly specific concern, Charlie.”
“I was just thinking about it,” Charlie said earnestly.
Jake decided to test the waters. “What’s your take on Massachusetts legalizing same-sex marriage?”
“About damn time,” Charlie said. “Two people love each other, they should get to marry. End of story.”
Right. Homo Charlie tonight. Still weird and creepy, but not as weird and creepy as hetero Charlie.
Jake leaned back in the chair. “Well, my non-medical opinion is that, theoretically, it could happen. I’m not saying it does, just ... seems like it could be a ... well, an occupational hazard, if you will.”
Charlie let out a nervous laugh. “Shit. I was afraid of that. You know any good proctologists?”
“I’ve yet to require those services myself,” Jake said dryly. “Listen—can you go get Drew for me?”
There was a pause. “I don’t like going near that dude,” Charlie said. “He’s fuckin’ weird.”
“Right,” Jake said. Yeah, Drew’s weird. “Still—this is important. Please go get him.”
“Okay, okay,” Charlie grumbled. “Hang on.”
Jake heard the phone clunk onto the counter, followed by the sound of Charlie’s voice receding down the hall: “Hey, pap guy, Jake wants you...”
Jake waited, drumming his fingers on the desk until the shuffle of footsteps came through the line, followed by Drew’s voice. “Yeah?”
“It’s Jake. Change of plan. I’m coming to pick you up right now. You’re staying at our house tonight.”
There was a pause. “Why?”
“It’s a long story,” Jake said. “One I’m not telling over the phone. Be ready in thirty minutes. Do not come outside to wait for me. But be ready to move the moment I walk into that building.”
“So...” Drew said slowly. “Am I actually going in the house, or are we talking servant’s quarters?”
“I was originally thinking pool shed,” Jake said. “But Laura still has some semblance of Mormon values floating around in her head and insisted we let you inside.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You are not to bring anything capable of taking a photograph or a sound recording,” Jake continued. “That includes your phone.”
“Do I need to bring towels or my bathing suit?” Drew asked.
“No. We have our own towels. And you will not be engaging in any activity that requires a bathing suit. If I decide to throw you off the cliff, I’ll just do it in the clothes you’re wearing. It won’t matter much to you when you land.”
A beat of silence. “Is what I do for a living really that bad?”
“Yes,” Jake said flatly. “Be ready in thirty minutes.”
He and Caydee rolled five minutes later. At this hour there were no paps or media lurking at the Johansen spot, so they picked up no tail. Not that it would have mattered much tonight anyway.
On the way, Jake glanced over at her. “You remember when we talked about lies?”
She nodded. “Yeah. There’s big lies and little lies. And there’s white lies—like when a Daddy tells a Mommy that she doesn’t look fat in those jeans when she really does.”
Jake smirked. “Right. And for the record, that was a random example of the white lie. It bears no resemblance to Mommy or See-Ya in any way—and they would kill me if you told them I said that.”
“I don’t think they look fat in their jeans,” Caydee said. “And See-Ya has a class ass. I heard Mommy tell her that.”
“Good,” Jake said. “Because it really is a class ass. But here’s the part I want you to remember: sometimes even good people have to lie to keep someone from knowing something they shouldn’t know. This is one of those times. Daddy is going to lie to the booth guard because it’s a necessary lie. Please do not try to help me with my lie. Just sit there and look cute and adorable.”
Caydee grinned. “I can do that.”
They arrived just before eight. The guard in the booth was Ryan, one of the newer hires. There were only three guards on duty right now, and that dropped to two after eleven.
Jake rolled down the window and let Ryan swipe his card, logging the arrival. “Forgot to bring my Ibanez home,” Jake said casually. “Want to restring it tomorrow on my day off. We’ll only be a few minutes.”
Ryan nodded.
“Oh—by the way,” Jake added, leaning on the door, “pretty sure I saw someone up on the west perimeter of the fence with a flashlight. Probably one of the vineyard guys, but can you send someone that direction just to make sure?”
Ryan frowned. “Seth and Roman are in the office. I’ll give them a call.”
“Appreciate it,” Jake said.
Beside him, Caydee sat quietly, eyes big and innocent, the perfect picture of cute and adorable.
As they made the short drive from the gate to the main building, Caydee looked over at him. “Why do you want someone to go looking for a man with a flashlight when there isn’t a man with a flashlight?”
Jake kept his eyes on the drive. “Because I want the guards on a wild goose chase so they’re not looking at their camera screens when we put the pap asshole in the trunk.”
Caydee considered that. “Makes sense. But don’t the cameras record everything?”
“They do,” Jake said. “But if they don’t know anything’s going on, they won’t bother to review the footage. And if they don’t review it and mark it for permanent save, it’ll be recorded over in another seventy-two hours.”
Caydee grinned. “That’s really smart. Did you learn that in Daddy School?”
Jake smirked. “Advanced Daddy School study, not the basic course.”
She giggled. She knew there was no such thing as Daddy School—just like there wasn’t really a Mommy store where you could go get a new Mommy if you needed one—but it was still fun to talk to Daddy about it.
Jake parked in front of the main entrance. He and Caydee got out, walking casually to the main door. He swiped them in, the lock clicking open.
The lower floor was dim, most of the lights out for the night. Drew was waiting near the entry, hands in his pockets.
Jake gestured between them. “Drew, this is my daughter, Caydee. Caydee, this is Drew.”
“Hi,” Drew said politely.
Caydee looked him over. “You’re the cabron who took pictures of us in our house, aren’t you?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I was.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Hijo de gran puta, pedazo de mierda malparido. Come mierda, chupacabra del culo, perro sinvergüenza que no vale ni la mierda que cagas. Que el diablo te obligue a lamerle los huevos y que tu pinche verga se pudra y la usen las ratas como pajilla.”
Drew blinked, taken aback. “Uh...”
Jake, however, looked impressed. “Nice form, mija.”
She beamed. “Thank you, Daddy.” She turned to Drew. “I learned that from my abuelo. Seems to fit the situation, don’t you think?”
Drew glanced at Jake nervously. “Don’t your parents get mad at you for talking like that?”
“Why should we?” Jake said. “She used proper context and verb modifiers.”
Jake crossed to a window that overlooked the guard booth. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t shitcan a request from the big boss during a night visit, and sure enough, he was right. About three minutes later, the security door opened and two guards stepped out, flashlights in hand.
One of them was Seth.
Jake’s eyes tracked him, studying his walk, the easy way he carried himself. Why? Why would a guy with a cushy job, steady pay, and all the Kingsley perks piss it away selling them out? He wanted to know. And he had a pretty good idea how he could find out. But not right now. That little piece of business hadn’t even arrived at the back burner yet.
When the guards disappeared behind the rehearsal building, Jake said, “Time to move.”
They headed outside. Jake popped the trunk.
“Thanks, man,” Drew said, tossing his bag inside.
“You’re welcome,” Jake said. “Now get in there with it.”
Drew blinked at him. “Wait—you’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Whu ... why?”
“So the guard at the booth doesn’t make a record of your departure. I’ll explain it all when we get home.”
Panic flickered across Drew’s face. “I saw this movie once. They told this guy to get in the trunk so he could scare somebody, and then they took him out to a field and killed him. In the trunk.”
Jake stared at him. “Why in the fuck would I do that?”
“Because I took pictures of you. This is all just ... an elaborate plot.”
Jake snorted. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t do the job myself. I don’t get my fuckin’ hands dirty. Now get your ass in that trunk.”
Drew hesitated, then climbed in.
Jake handed him a small paper bag. “In case you puke. I don’t want to clean that up later.”
Drew looked genuinely terrified as Jake closed the trunk on him.
They left the Campus at a steady, casual pace, Jake giving Ryan a friendly wave through the windshield as they rolled past the guard booth. Ryan waved back, none the wiser.
As soon as they cleared the gate and were out on the road, Caydee grinned. “That was fucking awesome. Just like a movie. And now we have a pap in our trunk! How cool is that?”
Jake chuckled. “Pretty cool.”
She looked out at the passing dark for a moment, then back at him. “Normal families don’t do stuff like this, do they?”
Jake thought about it. “Go to a recording studio in the middle of a school night, lie to security about why we’re there, send the guards off on a snipe hunt, and then cram a pap into the trunk and smuggle him out?” He shrugged. “I think that every family encounters something like this at one time or another, Caydee girl.”
She giggled. She knew her family was weird—and embraced it.
They rolled into the garage and killed the engine. Jake and Caydee got out, walked to the back, and popped the trunk.
Drew looked like something that had been left out in the sun too long—pale, sweaty, hair sticking up at odd angles—but the barf bag was still folded neatly in his lap.
The lid came up and he immediately threw an arm over his face. “Don’t shoot me.”
Jake gave him a look. “We already discussed this. If I wanted you dead, it would be a contract job. I wouldn’t drive you into my actual garage in my actual ninety-thousand-dollar car and shoot you here in front of my daughter. How it would go down is that a couple of dudes who know a couple of guys named Tater and Asshat would snatch you off the street and take you fishing—using you, wrapped in industrial chains, as the bait.”
Drew slowly lowered his arm.
“Now climb on out of there,” Jake said.
Drew sat up, blinking at the garage. “Did you have to drive me all the way home in the trunk?”
Jake gave him a flat look. “We went over this. You had to be invisible when we rolled through the gate.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Drew said, swinging his legs out. “But couldn’t you have pulled over just outside the gate and let me in the car?”
Jake paused, as if actually considering it for the first time. “Huh. Never thought of that.”
Caydee grinned at Drew. “You’re a smart motherfucker, motherfucker,” she told him. She could never resist an opportunity to quote Pulp Fiction, which had been her all time favorite movie ever since Daddy let her watch it one night.
They came in through the garage door into the kitchen. Laura was waiting, arms folded, a stern expression on her face.
“Did you strip search him?” she asked.
Jake looked at her. “I kind of assumed you were joking about that.”
“I was kind of joking about the strip part,” Laura said, “but not the search.”
She reached over to the counter, pulled on a pair of medical-grade neoprene gloves. Jake eyed them. “Where the hell did you get those? I’ve never seen them in this house before.”
Laura ignored the question. “Turn around,” Laura told Drew.
Jake looked at her carefully. “What are you doing?”
“I’m searching him,” she said simply. “Sarah at the Pine Cove taught me how the last time we were there.”
Jake arched a brow. “She was just trying to feel you up.”
“I know,” Laura said. “But it was a legit lesson. Got me a little wet too.”
“Turn around,” she repeated to Drew.
He turned without argument. Laura went through his pockets, waistband, and sock lines with professional efficiency. Then she pointed at the kitchen nook table, which was already covered in a layer of paper towels. “Travel bag. Laptop case. Dump them out. Everything.”
Drew hesitated, then obeyed.
Laura sifted through each item like she was processing an evidence locker. She even held up his bikini briefs—varying colors, neatly folded—and smirked. “Revenge is finally mine.”
Jake leaned on the counter. “You need to smell them for the full customs officer experience.”
“I’ll pass,” Laura said dryly.
Drew’s face went crimson.
When she was finished, the verdict was simple. “No camera parts. No cell phone. Nothing that could take a picture or record voice.”
“I told you I wouldn’t bring any,” Drew said.
“And we took your word for what it’s worth,” Jake said.
“That’s not fair,” Drew said. “I’m helping you!”
“And we do appreciate that, camera boy, but it’s hard to forget that you climbed our cliff trying to get private pictures of our family. Or that you did get private pictures of our family that helped start this whole train rolling in the first place.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Drew allowed.
“Can we post a guard on his door?” Caydee asked. “Like they do in the movies?”
“We don’t have a guard,” Jake reminded her.
“Oh ... well, that sucks ass.”
Laura glanced at the clock. “Caydee, go take your shower. It’s almost bedtime.”
“Are we still doing guitar-sing time?” Caydee asked.
“Of course we are,” Jake said.
“I’ve been working on a tune on the piano,” she said. “I want to play it tonight.”
“I can’t wait to hear it,” Jake told her.
Drew heard the exchange from where he stood, and something stirred in him. He thought of all the nights in New Zealand when he’d watched them through the glass—those warm-lit windows where they gathered with guitars, a flute, and sometimes a harmonica. He had a few of those moments captured in the seventy-eight shots the Chronicle now held. But he’d never heard the music. He wondered if they’d let him.
Caydee darted off down the hall, leaving Laura to turn her attention to him. Without a word, she led him through the kitchen and into the family room—and straight into a sea of hostile eyes.
He recognized Celia Valdez instantly. The little boy beside her was Cap Kingsley. The Indian woman and Indian girl were strangers. Laura introduced them—Yami and Kira—but there were no smiles, no handshakes.
“Don’t get too attached,” Laura said to the room. “He won’t be staying long.”
She kept moving, and Drew followed her down a long, dim hallway that smelled faintly of furniture polish. “This is the least traveled wing in the house,” Jake told him. “It’ll be your domain while you’re here. No travel outside of it without permission.”
“Got it,” Drew said.
It wasn’t a bad domain, he realized as they walked. There was a well-equipped gym, a laundry room, two storage rooms, and a locked door Jake identified as his composition room.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jake said, and Drew nodded.
There were two spare bedrooms. The larger was his. Not a suite, but it had its own bathroom and a window that let in the sound of the ocean when it was open. The view was over the southern bluffs, not the western sea, but it was still something.
“Can I watch guitar-sing time?” Drew asked.
Jake stopped, turning his head slightly. “Why?”
“I got to know your family while I was spying on them,” Drew admitted. “Everyone always seemed to have a good time during it. I just want to hear it.”
For a moment Jake studied him, and some of the steel in his expression eased. “You can sit in the entertainment room until we’re done,” he said.
Drew set his bag on the bed and took a moment to look around. He’d never stayed in a room this nice before—soft lighting, clean lines, a wide bed that looked like it belonged in a magazine, and a bathroom big enough to hold his old apartment’s kitchen. He opened the window and listened for a second. Sure enough, the sound of the ocean drifted in, faint but steady.
He unpacked a few things, then stepped back into the hallway. No one was around. From somewhere deeper in the house came voices and the sound of laughter.
Figuring he’d been given a pass to watch, he started in that direction, only to take a wrong turn into a narrower hallway. Halfway down, he stopped short.
A couple were pressed against a doorway, locked in a slow, heated make-out session. The woman had dark hair and was older, the man dyed blond hair, spiked, and they didn’t notice him—or care. He had no idea who they were. The man’s hands suddenly dropped to her ass and pulled her tight against him. They began to grind into each other.
Very slowly, Drew turned and retraced his steps.
Following the voices again, he eventually found the entertainment room. All three kids were there now, along with the Kingsley adults and the Indian woman he’d met earlier—Yami, he remembered. Caydee was at Celia’s side, talking about what tempo she was going to play her piece at.
Laura sat on the couch with Cap in her lap, cuddling him while her flute rested beside her. Jake was behind the bar. Kira sat on a stool there, sipping from a glass of something bubbly and clear. She let out a small burp and Yami immediately told her to excuse herself.
Jake glanced up at Drew. “Have a seat.”
Drew sat, noticing the glass in Jake’s hand—some kind of brown liquor over ice. Jake took another sip, then asked, almost reluctantly, “You want something to drink?”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” Drew said.
Jake poured a healthy measure of something called Glenfiddich over ice and slid it across the bar. Drew stared at it for a moment.
“Got any Coke to go with it?” he asked.
Jake gave him a look that was equal parts disgust and something that looked like amused nostalgia, then reached into the bar refrigerator and pulled out a can of Coke.
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