The anxiety that something’s wrong kicks up, and I walk over to check. Pheobe doesn’t drink, but it was only three shots of tequila. That shouldn’t be too bad for her, right?
Nancy steps out of the bathroom and appears in front of me looking like a ghost. If that wasn’t shocking enough, her palm hitting my cheek definitely stuns me.
It also fucking hurts.
“What the fuck was that?” I growl as everyone turns to stare at us.
Whipping around, she glares at the crowd. “Mind your own fucking business!”
She turns back to me with a death glare, pushing me towards a corner to have as much privacy as possible in a crowded bar. It feels like I’m about to be scolded by my mother.
“How can you treat her like that?”
“Like what? And you just broke your own rule. No fighting in the bar, remember?”
“First off, my rules. Means I can break them without consequences. Second, you’re lucky that’s the worst I’m doing to you because I’m fighting the urge to slit your throat right now.”
I gape at her. What the hell did Phoebe tell her? I didn’t think I treated her terribly. In fact, I’m trying to treat her as nicely as I can. It’s not like I’m boyfriend material. Anyone who spends thirty seconds with me can tell that fact.
“What are you talking about?”
“I always thought you were a decent guy, Pacino. A little broody, but decent. I guess I was wrong.”
Okay, I’m not a saint, but I didn’t think I was a shit person. “Nan, what the fuck are you talking about?” I glance toward the restroom where Phoebe still hasn’t come out of. “What did she tell you?”
“She didn’t say a word. Her tattoo did.”
“She has a tattoo?”
I want to see this. I love tats on women. Sexy as hell as long as it’s not some ex’s name. Not that it would really stop me at this point.
And Phoebe does not seem like the tattoo type.
Her arms drop, and her chin juts out as she studies me. “I thought you said you already fucked her.”
“I have. In the dark.” And with her mostly clothed.
She swallows and looks shaken again. “She has a tat just below her right hip bone. I saw it when her shirt rode up taking her sweatshirt off. Before puking. Girl cannot drink.”
“Is it some guy’s name or something? What’s with the violence?”
“It’s a Medusa tattoo, Pacino.”
All air leaves my lungs, and I gape at the door to the restroom. I’m completely frozen.
“No. Not my Yellow Crayon.”
Chapter Twelve
Phoebe
Opening my eyes, I feel sick. The little bit of light coming from the blinds causes a searing pain in my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Until I realize the room I’m in isn’t mine.
Not at my apartment. Or the guest room.
Eyes popping open, I panic. Where am I?
I turn to my right to find Tucker asleep beside me, and I think I might be sick. I’m in Tucker’s room. In his bed.
