The Biker's Rules
I lift the glass and gulp down half the blue drink in one reckless shot, instantly regretting it as heat slides down my chest.
“That song was pretty perfect,” Kiara gushes, fanning herself dramatically. “Like … gooey. Mushy. I think my heart just sprouted wings. And I just turned sides. I’m officially all Team Damena now.”
I swear she’s drunk. Or high.
She’s talking way too loud. Heads turn. A couple at the next table actually pauses mid-conversation to look at us.
“Did you even listen to the words?” she continues, then finally leans forward and drops her voice. “It literally describes your relationship. Like, line for line.”