“Shoulda known better,” I mumble as I watch the ice cubes slowly melt in my Jack and Coke. “Shoulda fuckin’ known better.”
“You know, talking to yourself is a bad sign. Do I need to bring you by the hospital?”
I look up at Lexy, the rocker-chick bartender at Chrissy’s, who’s giving me a look like she either feels bad for me or thinks I’m pathetic – maybe a mixture of both.
I’m a little tipsy and still wondering what the f**k just happened. Actually, I know what happened, Donna totally ambushed me. She invited me to dinner just so she could flaunt her rich, city-girl life in my face. I bet she loved having two guys fight over her like that. I haven’t been in a fight over a girl since Tommy Clarence pushed Emma Carlsen on the playground in fourth grade.
“Do they have any treatments for a
