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Rowen: I’m drinking a margarita. That should tell you how bad it is.
Katy: You should’ve just taken the shot of tequila. It would’ve hit you harder and over with
faster.
Grinning because she was right, I took a long swig of the margarita, and only managed to grimace
slightly.
“I thought you didn’t drink?”
Theo’s question had me stiffening.
And I knew that his question was aimed toward me without even turning to look at him.
Instead of answering, though, I ignored him, acting for all I was worth that I hadn’t heard him at
all.
He was all the way at the other end of the table.
And there were five other chatty women now at the table with us.
It was safe to assume that I could’ve realistically not heard his question.
But then he had to go and repeat himself, louder this time.
“Rowen,” Theo barked. “I thought you didn’t drink?”
I had no other choice but to turn my head and look at him.
Gritting my teeth, I turned my head slightly to stare at him.
“What?” I asked.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” he repeated slowly, as if he was talking to a small child.
I barely refrained from gritting my teeth.
“I drink,” I answered.
Then lifted my margarita glass that was half-filled now.
“Is it good?” Tillie asked curiously. “I’ve never really liked margaritas.”
I thanked Tillie from the bottom of my heart for asking me that question, because it meant I could
safely look away from Theo without looking like I was intimidated.
“It’s okay,” I admitted.
And it was.
That was all alcohol ever was to me. Just okay.
I could live with it or without it.
But I’d rather spend eight fifty on a piece of cake or two cupcakes from my favorite cupcake
