I make finger quotation marks when I say accidentally and lift one brow threateningly. His hands drop from his chest to cup his dick through his jeans.

“Not funny, Morticia.”

I’m the proverbial dare, the brush with death his drunk friends have challenged him to risk, but yet I’m the ‘not funny’ one. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Blake is watching with interest, seemingly keeping one eye on me and one eye on Drunk Dude, but not in a cross-eyed way. Though he’d probably look cute even with crossed eyes.

Focus, Zoey!

I’m done with this tonight. All I wanted was a quiet evening at home, and barring that, a quick bite and beer with Holly. Somehow, it’s turned into a pseudo-date, even though I don’t date, and I still haven’t done the paperwork for the accident.

I sigh deeply and turn my attention to Drunk Dude. I glare at him for a few seconds, and then out of nowhere, I flinch toward him and bark, “Boo!”

He jumps a foot in the air and backward at the same time like a cat that got spooked by a cucumber. I laugh instantly, not bothering to hide it this time. Screw anyone who thinks I’m up to no good.

But Drunk Dude’s jump is less than graceful, and his landing is even worse when he stumbles to get his feet back under himself. He doesn’t even get close to making it, his boots slickly fighting for purchase on the dirt floor. He runs in place at an awkward angle like the Roadrunner for a second and then sprawls out on the ground.

As soon as he’s down, he’s scrambling away from me on his hands and feet like a crab, pushing a chair out of the way. “Leave me alone, Morticia.”

One of his buddies grabs Drunk Dude under the arms to help him off the floor and drag him further from me like I’m some great threat, but never fear, he sure keeps mouthing incoherently.

“You came over here, interrupted my dinner, and acted like I’m a middle school cootie dare, but I’m the bad guy?” I ask, acid and venom dripping from every word, even though I know the answer already.

All conversation stops, and eyes land on me from all over the room. They’re watching me as though I’m going to shoot Force lightning from my fingertips on demand.

I sigh, still surprised somehow, even though I know better. I wipe my mouth with a paper towel and then wad it up to drop it to the tabletop. “Thank you, Mr. Hale. This was . . . nice,” I hedge. It was, right up until it all went to shit with fly cookies on top. “I’ll be sure to do the paperwork for you tonight. You should hear from the county clerk tomorrow.”