Ricki laughed and rubbed the top of her head. “I have a few divots to prove I don’t always succeed.” Ricki pointed at Blythe. “And she has a scar in her hairline to show it’s not smart to come up here when you’re drunk.”
Blythe pushed her short hair up, exposing her forehead. “Right here. Head wounds bleed—a lot.”
Abby took a step toward her and narrowed her eyes.
“Wait.” She handed her phone to Ricki. “Let’s get on camera the moment Abby discovers I have an imperfection.”
Ricki snorted. “I’m pretty sure she already knows you’re imperfect.” Ricki motioned for the phone. “But give it here.”
Blythe handed it over and waited for Ricki to get into position before she lifted her hair again. “It starts here.” She took Abby’s hand and put Abby’s fingertip near where the scar began. She moved Abby’s finger the length of the two-inch scar.
“Ouch.” Abby’s eyes filled with compassion. “What happened?”
“The dumbass walked right into the ceiling. She didn’t even break stride. Well, until she crumpled to the floor,” Ricki said.
“Dumbass? You’re the one who put the damned cooler near the wall.” Blythe pointed at the angled ceiling that met the three-foot wall.
“I didn’t want anyone tripping over it.” Ricki smirked.
“No, she’d rather knock someone out.”
“Oh, god.” Abby put her hand against her chest. “You passed out?”
“Well, I…” Blythe started to say.
“No, she didn’t pass out.”
“I was woozy. And I saw stars.”
“You were already woozy.” Ricki shook her head and looked at Abby. “She was beyond drunk. One might say trashed.”
Blythe pinched her fingers together and then spread them about an inch. “Just a little.”
“Yeah, right! She doesn’t even remember half of it.”
“That’s because my brain was scrambled by the impact. You’re just lucky I love you, or I could have sued your ass.”
“Whatever.”
Abby ran her finger over the scar. “Did you have to get stitches?”
“They just superglued it,” Ricki said.
“Ignore her. It wasn’t superglue. It was some kind of medical glue. They said it would keep the scarring down.” Blythe smirked. “But I wanted it to scar.”
“Why?” The look of confusion on Abby’s face caused Blythe to chuckle.
“Chicks dig scars. Besides…” Blythe pointed at Ricki. “It gives me something to hold over her head.”
Ricki frowned. “It didn’t work. It was her own fault. I told her moonshine wasn’t for amateurs. But you can’t tell her anything.”
“I just wish I would’ve gotten footage of it. We’ve got pictures, but it’s not the same. But I’ve—”
“You’re not doing that,” Ricki interrupted.
Blythe grinned and leaned in toward Abby. “With AI getting so much better, I’m working on creating a video from the pictures. Reenact the crime.”
“Jesus, it wasn’t a crime.”
