“What the hell, Van?” Did he just take that asshole’s side? “He’s why she’s here drunk on a Tuesday night before ten.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s just that. I don’t know her well, but I know this isn’t her. She burns s**t to the ground when she’s pissed, not drown in tequila. That girl out there,” he points in the club’s direction, “is hurting.”
“Because of me?”
“I think it’s been building, and whatever happened today tipped it over the edge. You guys still haven’t talked?”
I give him a sheepish look. “No.”
He punches me in the shoulder hard. “Talk to her before you put your d**k in her again.” He jerks the office door open, muttering “dumbass” under his breath. I can’t even be mad. I don’t regret last night—quite the opposite. I realized a few things about myself that I
