Page 492 - Anonymous
P. 492
pole in the middle of the dance floor. He
follows my gaze and smirks.
He pours me a bourbon, the
absolute worst, and one for himself.
Pulling out a small packet of white
powder, Rob pours a line on the bar
counter. He mixes some in his drink,
stirring it with a plump finger.
“You a virgin?” I frown, not quite
understanding what he means. “To this,”
he motions to the coke.
