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Chapter 117

Her fingers twitched and she tried to fold them under her lap but it felt childish. Skittish. In a way she didn't like. But the loud raucous man next to her was slithering closer with every bout of laughter he shared with his friends on the other end of the phone. Jodie had a bad first hand experience of ornery drunks and their fists as a child. She was never going to be completely comfortable in a bar surrounded by strangers and peevish men whom only one woman in this universe could like- their mothers. And this one specifically needed a lesson in personal space. A lesson involving fists and elbows.

"What are you looking at?" The guy was wearing a tank top. Or a spaghetti. Lord knew. And his chubby greasy finger, from all the chicken fries he had gulped down had stained his upper wear, right on the pot belly. When she didn't reply, he asked again.

"Hey you. What are you looking at? Dont you be looking at me. Not like that." She realised why he said it. Her expression must be betwee
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