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“They can’t fully appreciate the pain if they’re drunk.”
She frowns. I chuckle.
“I’m good with water,” she says, taking one of the bottles of mineral water and pouring it into a glass.
“You always a rule follower?” I ask.
“Depends on the rule. Some rules need to be broken, and the world needs rule breakers, like Rosa Parks or Susan B. Anthony.”
“And you think the drinking age is important enough that you can’t break it? In most of the world, you can drink once you’re eighteen. The US has one of the highest age requirements, but it has more alcohol-related problems than most of the world.”
“Yeah, we’re pretty underdeveloped in a lot of ways.”
“You’re not going to get arrested for having a sip of wine. If I dragged you down to a police station to have you arrested, they’d kick us out for wasting their time.”
“They might arrest you, though, for serving alcohol to a minor, though I turn twenty-one in just two months. It’s not that I think the drinking age is a rule that shouldn’t be broken, but I’ve made it this far, why break my streak?”
“How have you made it this far? Weren’t you ever curious?”
She shrugs. “Not really. My grandmother didn’t drink. Growing up, I saw one of my neighbor’s sons acting stupid when he was drunk. He then hurled all over our walkway.”
“But you’re in college now. You don’t drink at frat parties?”
“I don’t go to a lot of frat parties. Did you when you were at UCLA?”
“No. Most of the frat guys I came across were assholes.”
“I’ve met some nice ones, but Greek organizations do seem to draw a lot of assholes.”
Setting down her water, she tries a pot sticker. “Wow, these are to die for.”
I sit down at the head of the table and watch her eat. The look on her face reminds me of how she looked a few moments ago in the throes of her orgasm. I always get a kick watching her come.
“How are you not five hundred pounds, eating like this?” she asks.
It’s a rhetorical question, so I move on to more pressing matters. “You never sent me your photo.”
“Okay, about that,” she says, helping herself to a slider next. “You weren’t serious about Phuket, Thailand.”
“You think I’m joking?”
I sit back and watch her eyes light up after a bite of the slider. Either she loves food or she doesn’t feed herself well enough. I’ve never been so fascinated watching a woman eat before. The few times Kimberly would indulge in something like dessert, she’d complain the whole time about how she’d either have to work out extra hard at the gym afterward or, if she felt lazy, induce vomiting.
Bridget raises a brow. “You invite women to international destinations regularly?”
“I don’t,” I admit. “But it just so happens I have to be in Phuket.”
“Because of a wedding?”
“Yeah, who told you that?”
“Felipe.”
“You getting chummy with my bartender?”
“He was the only one nice to me my first time at the club.”
I like Felipe. He’s not a member of the Jing San and probably knows more than he should, but he’s always been discreet. Still, I’m surprised that he’s chatty with Bridget so soon after meeting her.
