Anthony raised his red plastic cup to me and shouted something, but it was too hard to hear over the music.

“What?” I called back.

“You look great!” A goofy smile was plastered on his face.

“Oh boy,” Vee said. “Not just a pimp, but a smashed pimp.”

“So maybe he’s a little drunk.”

“Drunk and hoping to corner you alone in a bedroom upstairs.” Ugh.

Author: Becca Fitzpatrick