I thought about that for a moment. “You are drunk,” I said as he tried to get the bottle to balance on the rim of its base.

His eyes came to mine. “I am not,” he said, and I caught it as it began to tip. “But I will be before the night ends.”

I took another sip, actually tasting it this time. I’d have a migraine in about an hour, but I didn’t care. “You know, the last time we shared a bottle, you wiped the top off,” Trent said.

“Red pop?” I guessed, smiling at a memory, and he nodded.

“You remember. Are the rings gone?”

I swung the bottle between my knees, and my gaze slid to Al snoring behind the curtain. “Al and I destroyed them,” I said. “Melted them so they couldn’t be reinvoked. You have a problem with that?”

Trent shook his head and reached for the bottle. “No. It was nice being able to reach your thoughts, though. You have nice thoughts.”

A smile curved my lips up, and I leaned away so I could see him better. “You are drunk.”

“I am not drunk.” He shifted closer, and I didn’t mind. “I’m bored out of my mind.”

I took another sip. “This is good,” I said, and he acknowledged it gracefully. “I know what you mean about the quiet,” I went on. “Jenks’s kids are scattering. He’ll be down to six kids by fall. Ivy is spending most of her time with Nina. I’m starting to think about finding a new apartment somewhere with Jenks.”

“Really?”

I shrugged and passed the bottle to him. “I don’t know. I like it at the church, but things have changed. If I wasn’t there, Ivy might ask Nina to move in. One vampire in the church is okay, two is asking for trouble. Even for a demon.”

Trent set the bottle aside, almost out of his reach. “You don’t think you could handle it?”

Thinking about what Cormel had said, I shrugged. “Oh, sure, but people talk.”

“They do, don’t they,” Trent said around a sigh, and my thoughts turned to Ellasbeth. Seriously? He could do better than that. “Nick was too scruffy for you, even when he wasn’t a demon toady,” he said then, surprising me. “Marshal didn’t have enough chutzpah to keep up with the elegance you’re capable of. Pierce was a first-generation model in a six-g world—novel, but really how far would you get before the software crashed the system? Kisten . . .” Trent’s fingers shifted in agitation. “Kisten was an interesting choice.”

The reminder of Pierce hurt, but it felt good to think of him and smile. “You’re critiquing my ex-boyfriends?”

He made a small noise of agreement. “I like people. Most of the time I can figure them out. You don’t make any sense. What are you looking for, Rachel?”