Perspective

Chapter Thirteen.

"Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love"

***

I have entered the seventh circle of Hell.

I knew I would get there one day, just didn't realise it was going to be tonight.

"Just dance with me"

"I'd rather die"

"Stop being dramatic"

"I'm not being dramatic, seriously just take me out the back and shoot me - I'm begging you, I'll even pay you to do it"

I wish I was joking.

"Dance with me" Harry demands again, standing in front of me where I had dug my heels into the laminate floor and damn near collapsed on the ground as a limp dead weight to avoid moving, just outside of the area near the jukebox where several other people were dancing to the music playing.

"Alright fine. I'm dancing - happy?" I say, folding my arms over my chest and stare at him.

Harry gives me a once over, and scrunches his brows together "You're not even moving"

"It's an interpretive dance - I call this move 'Still and stubborn' " I say with a flat look.

Harry purses his lips, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek with his brows pinched together.

Am I annoying him?

I fuckin hope so.

He huffs out a breath, turning on his heel without a word and walks towards the bar; stopping in front of it and gestures one of the bartenders over, and says something to him.

What is he up to now?

I watching with my eyes narrowed in suspicion, watching the bartender set several full shot glasses on a tray; and Harry pays for it, picking up the tray and walking back towards me.

My suspicion turns into confusion when he comes and stands back in front of me, and I look to the six shots on the tray; only to now look to Harry in shock when he takes three of them, one by one and downs them without so much as a flinch on his face.

"What are you doing?" I ask, scrunching my face up.

Harry holds the tray out to me, glancing from the three left over shots and back to my face "It's tequila, I'm lubricating that attitude of yours"

"Tequila won't get me to dance" I argue knowing its a bold faced lie.

Tequila will have me dancing on that fucking pool table, but I'd need far more than three shots.

"Didn't think it would, just drink them" he urges, and I raise a brow at him.

"Why are you taking shots now? You haven't drank all night - aren't you driving?"

"Needed some liquid courage and I'll get us both a taxi and pick up my car tomorrow, now just drink them" he says, daring me with a raise of his brows.

Well look, you don't have to tell me twice - I come from a long line of alcoholics and I'm basically like a pure bred race horse when it comes to drinking.

Whilst I do not trust whatever he's up to, either way I know I can't be sober for it, and far from drunk - so bottoms up.

He gives me a satisfied smile as he watches me take the tequila and throw each one back, coughing and grimacing at the taste.

I fucking hate the taste of alcohol.

It's why I usually strictly drink vodka. I don't know how people enjoy the taste, I like the effects but I prefer drinking it in a way where it doesn't taste like I'm drinking burning cough medicine.