Stalked By My Boyfriends Best Friend
“You’re gonna take a shot of whatever I mix for you. No arguments.”
My stomach drops. “Rich...”
“No arguments,” he repeats, already walking over to the minibar, rubbing his hands together like a man about to commit a crime.
I sit on the bed, arms crossed, glaring at the back of his head. “If I throw up, I’m aiming for you.”
“That’s fair,” he muses, grabbing a glass and way too many bottles.
I watch in horror as he pours whiskey, vodka, Tabasco sauce, pickle juice, and a splash of milk into a glass, stirring it all together with a knife like a lunatic. I watch as he licks the excess off the knife.
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