Page 24 of Far From Center
“I need to make sure my heart is healthy,” he commented. Then he slid the margarita over.
“Oh, that’s mine.”
He gave her one of the most pathetic sad looks she’d ever seen.
She sighed and pushed it the rest of the way over. “Go ahead. I don’t think you’ll like it, though.”
He took a sip and wrinkled his nose. “It tastes like your orange juice has turned rancid.”
Nyalla pulled it back and took a sip. “Yes, I know. I like it that way.”
“Is it good for me? Does is have greater nutritional value than the non-rancid juice?”
She bit her lip, tempted to lie and get him drunk. An archangel drunk.Thisarchangel drunk. The prospect was so very enticing.
“No, it has less nutritional value than the juice.”
He sighed. “Then I will stick to wine and water, and an occasional non-rancid juice.”
“Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to coffee. And maybe milk.”
The angel’s eyebrows shot up. “Milk? As in the milk that young mammals drink?”
“Yes. Adults drink it too.”
His eyes drifted downward from her face. “Do I drink it from your breasts?”
“No! Oh, my….no!” She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “First of all, I’m not lactating. Secondly, only human infants drink human milk. Human adults drink cow’s milk.”
There was no need to go into details of how incredible it felt during sex to have someone play with and even suck at her breasts. She’d save that conversation if their odd friendship ever went that far.
And how she hoped thingsdidgo that far. Sooner rather than later.
“I need to drink from a cow’s udder?” Gabe asked.
“No. Farmers milk the cows with machines then it goes to a processing facility and gets put in a carton or plastic jug. You drink it out of a glass, or if you’re like my brother, Wyatt, you drink it out of the carton.”
“I’m not sure I agree with this process. Is the cow harmed? And how nutritional is it for a human to be drinking cow’s milk? Shouldn’t humans pump from their own breasts and drink the milk that’s specific to their species?”
Nyalla took several gulps of the margarita to hide her giggle at the vision of lines of women hooked up to machines, their breast milk going into plastic cartons.
“Women actuallydouse machines to express milk, but it’s for their own infants or sometimes for other infants whose mothers are unable to provide milk for them and can’t drink the manufactured formula. At least try the cow’s milk. It has calcium and vitamin D and other good-for-you stuff. If you hate it, well then there’s another beverage you can force down once per day.”
He nodded. “I’ll try it. And maybe I’ll try this coffee that everyone is so eager for me to drink. You must promise me that you won’t tell anyone, though. Both Micha and the Iblis have been trying to get me to drink coffee for months now. I would prefer if they didn’t know. Actually I would prefer if they didn’t know about any of this.” He waved a hand down the front of him.
“I won’t tell,” Nyalla promised. And she meant it. It would be fun to let Sam know that Gabriel was drinking coffee, but she’d keep it secret. She’d keep the whole thing secret. As much as Gabriel didn’t want his siblings or Sam to know about his condition, she didn’t want any of them to know that she was the one responsible.
“Should I drink another glass of wine while you finish your rancid juice?”
She bit her lip. “Probably not on an empty stomach.”
“My stomach isn’t empty. I’ve had water, half of a glass of juice, a sip of acid-tasting soda, a sip of rancid juice, and a glass of wine. I probably should have another.”
Nyalla downed the margarita. No. She wouldn’t get Gabriel drunk. At least, not tonight. “I’m done. Let’s head back to the room. I’m sure you’re tired, and you’ve probably never been tired ever before in your whole life.”
Strangely enough, she was the one leaning on Gabriel as they walked back to the lobby and took the elevator to their floor. She’d only had one beer and the margarita, but it all seemed to go straight to her head, making her feel warm and drowsy, content and happy. The angel’s arm came around her shoulders and she rested her head against him, feeling the rough cotton of the shirt and the firm chest underneath.
“Are you okay? Do I need to carry you to the room?”
