She laughed again and stumbled away from the bar.
Yeah, it was funny. Funny as hell. And she was cool. Cool and funny.
Where had that guy said the bathrooms were? In the back? But where was the back? She spun around, pretty sure she’d been heading for the front door. Except she spun too fast and the ground tilted.
“Whoa.” She instinctively reached out to steady herself and came in contact with something soft and round. Plushy, yet firm.
A woman smacked Stella’s hand away and glared at her. “As cute as you are, I don’t swing that way, honey,” the lady said.
Wait, had she grabbed the woman’s boob? Shit, she had.
“I don’t either,” she reassured the lady. “But you have a nice rack. Hey, do you know where the bathrooms are?”
The woman pointed to the left. “In the back.”
Yeah, so she’d been told.
She kept walking, placing one foot in front of the other because the floor was being an uncooperative douche. Why wouldn’t the thing hold still?
Seriously rude.
Damn, this place was big. Stella swayed past the pool tables and managed to keep her gaze in front of her. Because she’d had just about enough of Brandon and his chick with the model-envy hair and do-me boots.
Whore.
And yeah, he was an ass too. Because…well, he just was.
“Ass,” she muttered, then giggled when a guy she walked past gave her a funny look. He probably wouldn’t understand her joke anyway.
Then there was a door with a picture of a toilet on it. Had the thing appeared out of nowhere? Whatever, she had to seriously piss and there were toilets inside. Enough for her.
She pushed through the wooden door and stumbled in. Damn, the place stank. Like…urine and men.
The guy who’d been washing his hands reached for the towels. “Dude, you’re in the men’s room.”
“The hell you say,” she shot back. Because this was totally the women’s room. Wasn’t it?
The guy smirked and strolled past her. “Okay, then.”
Shit, the floor was spinning again. She placed a hand on the wall to steady her pounding head.
Now that she got a look at her surroundings, the place was filthy. Women’s bathrooms didn’t normally smell like sweat and piss. At least the ones she’d been in. Only men could nasty up a bathroom, especially a public one.
Shit.
And yeah, there were the urinals. With a guy standing at them, doing his business. Feet braced apart, wide shoulders, dark, unruly hair.
Oh God.
Bile rose in Stella’s throat as white-hot heat flooded her cheeks.
Brandon glanced over his shoulder at her as he zipped. “If you wanted to get a look at my junk, all you had to do was ask.”
Normally she would tell him to shove his half-smile up his ass, but her dinner, along with the three freakin’ Bloody Marys she’d consumed, churned in her stomach. And this was why she never drank. Not only was she a lousy, cheap drunk, but she also lost all inhibitions and acted like…well, like her mother.
And, man, this place stank something fierce.
Stella placed a hand over her mouth as a familiar watery taste formed. “Stop looking at me like that,” she warned Brandon as he turned from the urinal and strolled toward the sink. Strolled, like the cocky badass he was. Totally enjoying her moment of drunken humiliation.
At least the Beehive Mafia wasn’t there to snap one of their stupid pictures for their stupid blog or whatever the hell.
The room whirled again when she turned, and the door to the bathroom shot open, and who the hell kicked open a door like that? The thick wood clocked her right in the head, snapping her back and making the room spin even more than it already was.
She was vaguely aware of someone apologizing, probably whoever had blown through the door like he owned the damn place, as stars burst in front of her eyes and ice picks stabbed through her forehead.
“Shit,” she whispered as she stumbled back until she came in contact with the wall. She gripped her head with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut.
Yeah, that was probably going to leave a bruise. Then she could tell the hilarious story of how she cracked her head in two in the men’s bathroom.
“Hold still,” a deep voice said as two hands gripped her shoulders. She was moving somewhere. Where, she couldn’t tell because her eyes were still closed. Partly because her head was splitting in two, honest-to-God-brains-spilling-out, and partly because she didn’t want to look at anyone’s “junk,” as Brandon had so eloquently put it.
The bathroom sink turned on; then a wet cloth touched her head.
She jerked back at the contact and opened her eyes. “Do you have to touch so hard?” she demanded.
Brandon grinned. Such an ass. “You’re bleeding. Now shut it and hold still.”
Somehow, in the middle of her alcohol-fuzzy brain and lightning strikes in her head, Stella managed to scowl at him. “I really hope you washed your hands.”
“Drunk off her ass and still cracking jokes.” He ran a fresh towel under the water and touched it to her head again.
“I’m not that drunk.”
He grinned again. “Honey, it’s practically coming out of your pores.”
“Hey, is she all right?” a guy behind her asked. “I didn’t even see her standing there.”
Brandon glanced at the guy. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. She just can’t be left alone because she confuses easily.” He turned his whiskey eyes back to hers. “Now, I told you the women’s restroom is the one with the picture of a girl on it,” he said slowly.
The guy standing behind her moved to the sink to wash his hands. “You know her?” he asked Brandon.
“My sister,” he answered as he dabbed the damp washcloth over her forehead. “She’s special but likes to be treated like the rest of us.”
Shithead. Her knee shot out, way too fast, because her head spun again. Didn’t matter, though, because Brandon easily dodged her effort to knee his junk.
Seriously, she was going to kill him.
His grin grew and her insides tumbled. Or was that vomit? Shit, she couldn’t tell.
“Easy, honey,” Brandon placated. “You remember what the doctor said.”
“Gonna murder you,” she whispered.
He ignored her threat, probably because she’d slurred it, and tossed another paper towel in the trash. “You need some antiseptic and a Band-Aid,” he told her.
“I can manage that on my own, thanks.” She turned to leave the hell she’d slipped into and almost plowed into the wall again.
“Yeah, okay,” her nemesis said, then took her elbow in his warm, large hand and steered her out of the men’s room.
Did he have to walk so damn fast? Seriously, she was only so coordinated at the moment and his legs were eating up the floor like…someone with long legs.
Good one, Stella.
And now she was referring to herself in the third person.
They maneuvered through the throngs of people and eventually made it outside. The cool air was welcome on her heated face, which helped settle her stomach a little.
“What about your date?” she asked, because obviously her mouth didn’t know when to shut the hell up.