I smell the whiskey the moment he opens the bottle and pours himself a drink. My boots click acrossthe wooden floors as I walk to the bar and take a seat two stools away from him.
Truthfully, I’d rather stand on the opposite side of the room from him, my back pressed against theglass so he can’t sneak up on me from behind. But I can’t show any fear.
I don’t wait for him to offer me anything. I pluck the bottle from his hand and take a swig right from it.
It burns my throat on the way down, but I don’t flinch. When I’m done, I set the bottle back on thecounter.
He looks at me with one raised eyebrow. “Trying to prove a point?”
“What point would that be?”
“That you’re a tough girl now, I suppose.”
Patronizing asshole. Instead of biting back, I take another swig of whiskey. It’s safer
