Oh, God, he’s an asshole. “It’s my third glass, Mr. Perfect. It’s hardly my fifth double vodka.”

“You’re not eating. You’re probably not sleeping. You had vodka at your parents too. I expect you drink because it calms you down. But the thing is, it only causes rebound anxiety as it starts to wear off. The next day you feel even more jittery.”

I hate that he’s right. I’ve been here before, in the vicious circle of too much wine the night before and the morning jitters afterward. Instead of acknowledging it, I sneer at him. “Well, genius, I need something to take the edge off, so unless you have some better suggestions?”

I knock back half the glass in defiance, but as I do, the reality of what I’ve said hits me. Crap, that sounds like a come-on.

He stills and watches me as if considering me like a bug under a microscope.

Mortified, I try to cover it up.

“Perhaps you’d prefer if I did drugs? Maybe we ought to go out, and I’ll get some coke.”

“Not happening.”

I was being sarcastic, but his heavy handedness is like a red rag to a bull. “Okay, I’ll call my dealer and have him come here.”

I don’t have a dealer, but he’s pissed me off. Taking out my phone, I pretend to make a call, but the next moment it’s taken from me, and he calmly turns it off and pockets it.

“What the fuck?” My voice has raised now to something unattractive like a shriek. “Give me my phone back, asshole.” Brutus whines in his basket and glances between us both, wary.

“No.”

He’s so calm it infuriates me.

I jump off the stool and round the breakfast bar, where I reach for his pocket, trying to get my phone. He puts one hand out, on my right shoulder, and holds me back with ease.

The stress, hurt at my ex-boyfriend, the wine, it all coalesces to create a deadly cocktail of unadulterated rage.

The rage is a cleansing fire, releasing adrenaline that feels good, instead of the kind of horrible, sickly rush I get with anxiety.

Before I can think, before I can temper myself, I raise my other hand and slap him across his arrogant face.

The hand on my shoulder tightens instantly, and he stands, towering over me.

For a moment we’re frozen in time, looking at one another.

The world tips, and I let out a gasped squeal as I’m thrown like a sack of coal over his shoulder.