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Summary
Jess buys herself a beer; buys Lupe one too, since she'd been the one to do the inviting. It's only polite.
"Not half-bad, Canada," Lupe says. She's leaning back against the bar, weight on her good elbow and beer in her pitching hand. She looks confident, cocky even.
Jess touches two fingertips to the glossy wood of the bar then against Lupe's cheek. "For luck."