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“Dammit.” Dahlia’s plastic cup clatters to the floor while Lorenzo lands his perfectly on the first flip. The speakers blare a female singer’s voice, making my ears ache.
“What the hell is going on here?” The door slams shutbehind me.
“Julian?” Dahlia turns on her heels so fast that she loses her balance.
Lorenzo reaches out to stabilize her.
“Get your fucking hands off her.” I practically snarl the words.
He lets her go. “Would you have preferred for me to let her fall?”
“I would have preferred for you not to take advantage of a woman. Period.”
Henry knocks his hand against the counter. “Hey. I was here the whole time watching them. Lorenzo did nothing but keep Dahlia company.”
Lorenzo places a hand over his heart. “Henry? Are you defending me right now?”
He looks away with an eyeroll.
“I’m touched. Truly.” Lorenzo taps his fist against his chest.
My patience snaps. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
“Nope.” Dahlia returns to flipping her cup and failing miserably.
Lorenzo must possess at least a quarter of a brain because he doesn’t return to his part of the game.
“What’s wrong? Keep going.” She points at his cup.
“I think it’s time you go home.”
“You suck.”
“Hey.”
She pouts. “I thought we were friends.”
“You’re not,” I answer for him.
Lorenzo scowls at me. “That’s not for you to determine.”
“Yeah.” Dahlia crosses her good arm against her chest.
“You’re drunk,” I add.
“I’m barely tipsy.” She taps her nose and spins in a circle like that means anything.
“Either way, it’s a bit early to be drinking, don’t you think?”
“You sound like Lorenzo.”
“Over my dead body.”
Lorenzo covers his smile with a fist.
Cabrón.
I situate myself between him and Dahlia as I pass their cups to Henry. “Get rid of these. And him while you’re at it.”
