“Oh, look,” Hash says, his eyes cast at something over my shoulder. “There she is now.”
I glare at him, angry and determined not to look. Rage washes over me in violent waves. Who does this motherfucker think he is? Before I can stop myself, I pull my arm back and smash my beer bottle on the floor in front of him.
Silence fills the room, but I don’t give a single fuck.
Turning, I storm toward the door. It takes everything in my power not to look at her as I leave. And I fail.
The woman is maybe fifty years old. She is wearing a gray knee length skirt with a white blouse and a white blazer. Her hair reaches her shoulders, and not a single one is out of place. She’s an attractive woman, but her wide eyes are staring around her in horror as she takes in the clubhouse. And to top it all off, if she didn’t look stuck up enough, she has her perfectly manicured fingers clutching a set of actual pearls.
Rage and embarrassment washes over me as I push past the nameless woman and storm out the door. The last thing I hear as I go is Grace’s voice saying, “Oh, bless her heart.”
* * *