Rhainn’s abdomen contracted as she let out a derisive exhalation, a smile jerking at her lips. Thoughtfully, she swirled the whiskey in the plastic shotglass, tilting her head slightly at the sound of the ice quietly clicking against itself. She rolled one shoulder back, enjoying the feeling of her muscles stretching, and followed John’s glance about the bar.
Her eyes lingered on the passed out man in the corner, frowning.
What sort of place was this, that the men could so clearly not hold their liquor?
Unbidden, a memory of another man, asleep and oblivious to the world about himself, passed before her mind’s eye. Her grip on the shotglass tightened. She abruptly drank, her stomach clenching at the burn of the liquor, the amber liquid washing away her memories of Makis and his fearless sleep habits.
She glanced back to John, a slight scowl replacing the amusement at what she perceived as his slight on the club scene. Her ragged, not quite so damp hair stuck up in odd places, and a strand curled limply about her cheekbones.
“I don’t suppose you’ve any intent to tell me what it was I just fought…? And why water sent it screamin’?”
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