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Chapter 32: Detour, Part 2

When he ordered shot #8, I gave him the stink eye.

"Don't look at me like that, just pour the damn drink."

I silently held my tongue. Don't get involved, just let the guy be an asshole. I poured the shots and handed them over with my best Resting Bitch Face.

But he weighed about 250 pounds, split between fat and muscle, while Candice, while tall, looked like she weighed no more than 160. Her speech started to slur, even though it was obvious she was trying not to.

"Another shot."

I started to sweat; I was crossing into moral obligation territory. I didn't care about the guy or what he did to himself, but he was ordering shots for Candice as well. I hadn't spoken much to her, but she had always been nice to me, and I felt like I had the duty to protect her. The memory of the 18-year-old dancer who got so drunk at Lipstick that she had to get her stomach pumped swam in the back of my mind. I knew that Candice was an adult and could make her own decisions, but I didn't want to be
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