Agreeing with Bambi means admitting that s**t out loud, though. It means saying I was wrong, and stupid, and blind, and short-sighted. I can either cop to all that…
Or I can hold my ground.
And a lifetime of my father’s training means I always, always hold my ground.
So instead of listening to the whisper in my mind and my heart that says I need to get the f**k back to the casino hotel rightfuckingnow, I shrug it off.
“What’s done is done.” I pop the cork off the nearest bottle with my teeth, spit it out, and take a swig. It’s a nonverbal “f**k off,” and Bambi knows it.
She straightens, then folds her arms and shakes her head with a sigh. “Watching you is like having a front row seat to a f*****g Greek tragedy. The worst part is, you’re thinking this whole time that you can’t trust Cl
