Page 94 of Best Served Cold

Another shove, this time to my shoulder, rocked me on my feet.

“Jason!” the woman beside me shouted.

Jason?

There was movement to my left. I whirled around and caught a glancing fist to my shoulder.

“The hell?” I tried to focus on whatever the fuck was going on, but my brain wasn’t keeping up with the rest of me.

“Jason, stop!”

Finally the scene came into focus. Three guys were crowded around me, all carbon copies of each other down to their preppy-boy clothes and douchebag haircuts.

Wait. Was that dude in the middle the one who’d given me lip at the bar?

The woman shoved my phone in my hand and stepped in front of me. “Stop.”

“What did I do?” I asked. What was happening?

“You trying to get your ass kicked?” the middle guy demanded. Was that Jason?

The woman put her hands on her hips. “He just asked me what this song is called.”

“He was flirting with you!” Jason, was that Jason?, snapped.

“So what if he was?” She threw up her arms. “We broke up, remember? You dumped me. What the fuck does it matter to you who flirts with me?”

Huh? Had I just gotten caught up in ex drama?

Ugh, no thank you.

I didn’t even have any exes to have drama with, no way in hell I was dealing with this shit from randoms at a club.

“I’m out,” I announced to no one.

“Hey!” A hand closed over my shoulder as I stepped back.

I shook it off. “Get the fuck off me.”

The guy from before looked like the top of his head was going to pop off from how hard he was sneering at me.

That struck me as funny. I giggled like the drunk moron I was and flipped my phone over to check the screen, only then remembering it had fallen to the floor. The screen was intact, but the camera was still recording. Oops.

I shut it off on autopilot, my vision swimming as I blindly pushed buttons to get rid of the camera.

A direct hit to my shoulder drew my attention from my phone. I shoved it in my pocket and glared at the guy who just wouldn’t take a hint.

“Fuck. Off.”

He started yapping at me like an annoying little chihuahua that doesn’t realize it shouldn’t try pick a fight with a rottweiler.

Done with the whole situation, I shoved past him and headed toward the bathrooms.

My knees were loose, and my stomach felt weird. Not sick, but like it was moving independently of the rest of me.

When was the last time I had this much to drink?

Stumbling into a stall, I slammed the door closed. I just needed to sit and let my head clear. Then I’d be fine to get home.

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