Well, f**k.
I rub the tips of my knuckles on both sides of my forehead at the sight of Dane possibly having broken his back from the jump on the foyer to a beer pong table with a match that had been cut short. The i***t's got a love of alcohol like that of a three-year-old obsessing over a cookie jar.
Dane groans from the landing but a moment later raises his fist up in the air pumping up the crowd. May God bless the f****d up table. But I doubt he cares that much since Dane was used to being at the receiving end of his parents reprimanding.
He tries to get up but miserably fails resulting in him falling back over the spilled beer. I make my way over to him, the people parting a way for me to pass. Some acknowledge me but I ignore them having only one goal in mind.
Dane sees me and hi
