I was the opposite of exotic. My tousled brown bob and heavy bangs were easy to maintain, but not a lot of men found it sexy. Not a lot of men found me sexy in general. I was the girl next door, your brother’s best friend. Growing up with three brothers and our cousin Colin, I could have been a tomboy if my subtle but still present curves hadn’t ousted me from the boys’ only clubhouse at fourteen.

“Don’t be that girl,” I said. “If you want one, go buy your own.”

She crossed her arms, pouting. “That’s why I quit. They’re fucking expensive.”

I stared at the burning paper and tobacco nestled between my fingers. “That is a fact my broke ass continues to make note of.”

The song switched from something everyone wanted to dance to, to a song no one wanted to dance to, and dozens of people began making their way off the dance floor. Two girls walked up to our table and traded glances.

“That’s our table,” the blonde said.

Raegan barely acknowledged them.

“Excuse me, bitch she’s talking to you,” the brunette said, setting her beer on the table.

“Raegan,” I warned.

Raegan looked at me with a blank face, and then up at the girl with the same expression. “It was your table. Now it’s ours.”

“We were here first,” the blonde hissed.

“And now you’re not,” Raegan said. She picked up the unwelcome beer bottle and tossed it across the floor. It spilled out onto the dark, tightly stitched carpet. “Fetch.”

The brunette watched her beer slide across the floor, and then took a step toward Raegan, but her friend grabbed both of her arms. Raegan offered an unimpressed laugh, and then turned her gaze toward the dance floor. The brunette finally followed her friend to the bar.

I took a drag from my cigarette. “I thought we were going to have a good time tonight.”

“That was fun, right?”

I shook my head, stifling a smile. Raegan was a great friend, but I wouldn’t cross her. Growing up with so many boys in the house, I’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime. They didn’t baby me. If I didn’t fight back, they’d just fight dirtier until I did. And I always did.

Raegan didn’t have an excuse. She was just a scrappy bitch. “Oh, look. Megan’s here,” she said, pointing to the blue-eyed, crow-headed beauty on the dance floor. I shook my head. She was out there with Travis Maddox, basically getting screwed in front of everyone on the dance floor.

“Oh, those Maddox boys,” Raegan said.

“Yeah,” I said, downing my whiskey. “This was a bad idea. I’m not feeling clubby tonight.”

“Oh, stop.” Raegan gulped her whiskey sour and then stood. “The whine bags are still eyeing this table. I’m going to get us another round. You know the beginning of the night starts off slow.”

She took my glass and hers and left me for the bar.