The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Experiencing an unusual touch of abashment and anxiousness, I positioned myself on the elevated stool in a somewhat awkward manner. I maintained a rigid and forced posture, with my shoulders pulled back to convey confidence. My hands were neatly folded in my lap to hide the nervous fidgeting of my fingers.

The ceaseless vortex of bodies and voices around me made my nerves jump and my muscles tense.

Every few seconds, someone would collide with me or push past me, adding to my already overwhelming list of anxieties.

It was as if I were trapped in the centre of a frenzied mosh pit, with no escape in sight.

The woman that Royce was speaking to earlier had her watchful eye on me, and the only thing missing was her leopard-print loincloth and a bone club.

For some inexplicable reason, her eerily calm studiousness scared the hell out of me. I hope she does not think I am here to steal her man or anything. I know how possessive and territorial these females get when it comes to their favourite caveman. I will not be surprised if I end up in a headlock in a minute.

Sigh. The things we put up with for a glimpse of a decent bicep.

"Hey," she called out, gesturing for me to come closer with a wave of her hand. "You look like you could use a drink. The first one's on the house."

"Thank you for the offer, but Royce advised that I abstain from alcohol for the time being," I politely declined the offer with a smile, not wanting to offend her. "Would bottled water be available, please?"

"Do you always do what that heathen tells you to do?" A playful dimple formed on her cheek as her tongue pressed against it. "Last time I looked at the calendar, it wasn't the nineteen fifties. A lady's got the right to make decisions for herself, doesn't she?"

Truth be told, defiance was my default setting when it came to Royce. But tonight, after already ruffling his feathers, I needed to play nice. For once, a little cooperation would not kill me. "Heathen?"

"That's exactly what I said," she smirked, pouring a risky amount of vodka straight from the bottle into a fluorescent shot glass. "Here." It slammed onto the sticky bar top. "Drink up."

I gazed at the concoction in front of me, pondering if she intended to poison me with such potent alcohol without any mixers. "Thank you, but I really should decline."

"The patriarchy can take a hike. Historical inequality does not belong here." The shot glass was forced into my hand. "Women are not meant to be put in the corner. Fuck Royce. Drink up and enjoy yourself."

Well, she made a valid argument, and she had a powerful way of delivering it. I lifted the plastic shot, took a deep breath like I was about to dive into an icy pool, and downed the burning liquid. It was insanely strong. I will most likely need a new oesophagus by the morning.

A laugh flew out of her. "That bad, huh?"

It was less than pleasant.

"Here." The second shot landed with a decisive clink. "Go wild."

While hesitant to appear standoffish and genuinely desiring to project a more carefree image, I followed the barmaid's lead and took another shot. However, I resolved that this would be my final alcoholic indulgence for the evening.

I had no intention of getting drunk.

None whatsoever.

One hour later...

So much for staying in control. I was paralytically inebriated, with all inhibitions thrown out the window along with the zero fucks I had to give.

Of course, the root cause of my dilemma was Royce. He was the one who left me to my own devices, knowing that I had a penchant for troublesome situations. But hey, I was not mad. At least, not anymore.