GRIFFIN’S POV
“I said I want the f*****g bottle,” I yell at the bartender, who ignores my request.
“Do you know who I am? Everyone knows who I am, and you know why?” the bartender shook her head.
“Because of my f*****g Father. Yup, Mr Baker, who apparently loved my birth mother and f****d my stepmother.” I choke as I down the last of the remaining whiskey in my glass.
“I want more.” I swing over the counter, trying to grab the bottle behind the counter, but I’m drunk, beyond drunk. I can barely stand on my feet.
“Sir, you had enough to drink, and it’s still daytime.” the bartender with her flirting eyes comment. I guess she doesn’t know me. You can flirt all you want by showing you care, but guess what? Not even the f*****g love of my life can keep me from having emotional drinks, pur
