Luke simply nodded as she poured the last of the spiked liquor down the drain. "Now you're talking, angel. Take it from a bona-fide psychopath. Nothing eases a broken heart quite like ripping someone else's out." 'Goddammit. I have<em>got </em>to stop thinking like that.' He craned his neck, a smile crossing his lips once again as he appreciated the view she offered him. When she handed him the bottle of the pink concoction, he took it absently, his eyes never leaving her backside. "Are you absolutely sure about this stuff? Because if it tastes at all like it looks, I think I'd rather have the poison." He leaned forward a little, still grinning. "Oh, don't worry about me, sugar. I solemnly swear I won't lay a finger on you," he said, right before he pressed the flat of his palm firmly against her butt. "Nope. Not one finger."