Page 81 of Oh, Flutz!

“Ow!Why?” I gripe, massaging my ribs, which were already killing me from a stupid fall out of a death drop spin, in which you kick your toe pick into the ice and let it propel you into the air so you can “fall” onto the other foot into another spin—only I missed the landing and fell splat on the ice, knocking all the air out of me. I’m going to have a big fat bruise where my abs should be when I wake up tomorrow morning—if I wake up tomorrow morning, that is. I’m getting the growing urge to drink myself to death, although it’d probably take more than a couple beers to do that.

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Because we brought you here to drink anddance,not drink and mope around like a sad old man.”

“You broke my ass,” I point out, more than a little pathetically, probably pouting like a toddler. I feel like a toddler.

A not-drunk-enough toddler, I think to myself, reaching my arm up and feeling around for my beer so I can take another swig, but Ollie swats my hand away.

“Nuh-uh. What’s that, your third already?”

Deanna holds up four fingers, and my jaw drops. “Hey! Traitor!”

Oliver snatches the beer away before I can save it, chugging the whole thing.

“You are so mean to me,” I groan. “And a hypocrite, too, you alcoholic ass.”

Deanna lets out a loud laugh, planting her hands on her hips. “You boys worry me. Deeply.”

Ollie laughs. “Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one.” I stick my hands out for him to haul me up, and he does, dragging me all the way out to where some people are already dancing, slinging an arm around my shoulders, his dark curls bouncing in front of my eyes.

“My god, we need to get you laid,” he says, pushing me off him and forcing me to not slump around, grabbing my hands and forcing me to dance. Not really, though, because I’m standing still except for where he’s waving my hands around.

“Kwan, believe me when I tell you that I definitely don’t need your help in that department.”

“Yeah, right. You haven’t gotten any in, like, a year.”

I scoff. “It hasnotbeen a year.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How long, then?”

I blush, which just makes him grin.

“How are you even living?”

“Shut up.”

“Whatever. Seriously, though. You’ve been in a crappy mood lately. Maybe that would help.”

I huff a breath as Ollie spins me around. “I don’t think it’d make a difference.”

“Damn. That bad?”

Yeah.

Ollie pauses, still moving around to the music slightly, but I know what he’s about to ask.

“Is it the usual?”

“Yeah. And…” I sigh. “I mean, it’s Katya, too. Like, I know she doesn’t get it, getme, but it’s just making it worse when she’s always trying to make my life miserable. She could’ve put us in the hospital, Oliver. And it’s like—I haven’t evendoneanything. I’ve been trying to help her, and this is what I get in return.” More reasons to be drinking like a man in a midlife crisis.

“Have you tried talking to her?”

I snort. “No.”

“You should.”

“I shouldnot.”

“Well, it’s better than whatever you’re doing. You’re just ignoring the problem.”

---