Wrong. She tried to explain to him that soccer-football was the original name of the sport, and in North America they shortened to it to soccer, while the rest of the world shortened it to football, thus forever confusing it with rugby-football. But the crystal-clear thoughts in her head weren’t translating to coherent statements from her mouth.

She blew out a puff of air before draining her glass.

“You really are a lightweight, aren’t you? How many of those did you drink before I showed up?” he asked.

“Two. But I missed dinner. I think,” she slurred, frowning. Her tolerance should be better than this. “Shit … sinus pills.”

He shook his head, disappointed, before turning back to the bar and calling out, “Steve? You have any more of your lentil soup? Could we get a couple of bowls? And some of your mixed pickles?”

“This isn’t 1952, bud. I can order my own meal,” Reena snapped.

“Sorry. Hey, Steve? Only one soup. Lightweight’s going to have … ” He looked at her.

Reena sighed. “Lentil soup. Extra bread.”

Nadim laughed so hard he nearly fell off his seat. Who was he calling a lightweight?

Reena had always loved the lentil soup at the Sparrow. Even better, the country bread from the bakery up the street they served it with, complete with cultured butter. But the soup did nothing for her lost sobriety. The room still spun when she finished eating. Nadim paid and led her out of the bar.

“C’mon, sunshine, fresh air will do you good. I’ll walk you home.”

“No need.” She stumbled, wondering if the sidewalk was always so far from her head.

“Relax, Reena. I’m going there anyway. This isn’t unwarranted patriarchal chivalry.”

His hand on her elbow, he guided her along the busy main road. The dark sky looked clear, spotted with more stars than she expected to see so early in the evening. But maybe it wasn’t early—how long had they been in there, anyway?

As they got to the building, she felt herself waver a bit on the stairs up to the front door. “Put your arms around me, sunshine,” Nadim said.

She looped her arms around him and rested her face in his neck as he unlocked the door. He felt warm and solid, grounding her as the world spun. Mm … he smelled good.

“Have you eaten anything other than the soup today?” he asked once the door was opened and they were entering the building.

“A samosa. Wait, no. I forgot to eat the samosas.”

“Do you have any homemade bread right now?”

She blinked. “You don’t know me that well, do you?”

He laughed, pulling her toward her door instead of his. “C’mon, I’ll make you some toast.”

She let him into her apartment. A part of her realized just how terrible an idea it was to bring a man she was seriously attracted to into her place at this hour, but considering the effects of both cold medication and gin were still coursing through her veins, she wasn’t able to make the leap from realizing the danger to doing anything about it.