Anjola
I had never seen him so edgy. Something was definitely wrong. His tightened expression listened when our eyes met. He swept imaginary sweat beads off his forehead before approaching me.
"Let's go." He pressed.
"Why?" I frowned, shooting him a warning glance. I looked at the fifth shot before picking the tumbler and gulping it down.
Diablo shook his head. I heard him mutter a curse or slang I barely heard before he spoke again, this time a tiny bit more softly.
"It's late and you are drunk. I don't want you making a scene."
For a minute there, I understood what he meant by making a scene. I made a funny glance at Miss perfect next to me who was beet red at the moment.
"Oh, you don't want me making a scene with her. Right?" He sank his head in his palms in a somewhat disapp
