"Three days, or maybe three hours! Everyone knows she loves Jimmy to death. She even proposed to him last night!"
I forced myself to swallow the bitterness rising in my throat, calmly closed the door, and walked away.
In the bar, my best friend had a male model on each arm, having a blast drinking the drinks they handed her.
I just focused on my drink and didn't say a word to her invites.
Then a middle-aged guy with sleeve tattoos came over.
“Have a drink,” he put a glass of wine in front of me, not taking no for an answer.
The amber liquid sloshed a bit, spilling on my chest.
His gaze became even more lewd.
Sensing danger, I tried to leave, but he grabbed my arm.
“Trying to run? Dream on.”
I struggled to free myself, "Let go, or I'll call the cops."
“Call the cops?” He laughed like he'd heard the funniest joke, louder than the blaring music, "Do you know who I am? Go ask around about Tom Brown and see if anyone dares to mess with me."
A man suddenly appeared between us.
His chiseled features and deep-set eyes made him look particularly manly.
He looked familiar.
He pried the man's hand off me with a smile, "She's my girlfriend, don't mess with her."
I remembered then—