“I would prefer it if you never referred to me as 'your angel' ever again,” she said primly.
The barkeep materialized before them with a single shot of whiskey, and Luke didn’t hesitate in bringing the cursed liquor up to his lips. He downed it in a single swallow. She wrinkled her nose as he sent the empty glass clattering against the chipped bar top.
A wicked smile curled on his lips as he turned, pressing his back against the hardwood and surveying the crowd. “Disliked that, did you? Well, you are my angel. Much more than anyone else’s.”
“I belong to myself,” she insisted, following his lead and turning her attention from the rows of brown bottles lining the mirrored wall behind the bar to the dance floor.
Jazz music swelled from the stage. A delicate ebb and flow of piano and horns that rivaled the dancing couples glittering in the dim light. Cigarette smoke curled in serpentine plumes, moving in time with the melody. Despite herself, despite her convictions and the reason she'd been forced to step foot inside this gin joint this evening, she couldn't help but envy the mortals before her. How meaningful every moment must be when any one can their last.
“You belong to God,” He spat bitterly, curling his left hand along his jacket's lapel and pulling it away from his chest. His right hand deftly fished a pristine silver cigarette case out of an inner pocket. “But for the time being I’m willing to share.”
He popped open the case and plucked a single cigarette from within. “You’re deranged,” she insisted with a disbelieving shake of her head.
The case closed with a brutal snap of his fingers. “And you’re divine.”
