The drunk guy leaned closer. “Sure smell good.”
“Thanks. You don’t,” Val rejoined.
The guy sneered, and for a second, Val thought he might pick a fight. She longed for him to do that, but he took his glass and wobbled back to the dance floor to hassle somebody else.
Val crossed her legs and took it easy as she sipped her whiskey and eyed the crowd. It was only a matter of time before three dudes swaggered over, operating on the untruth this type of man universally acknowledged: a single woman in possession of a good seat at the bar must be in want of a random guy hitting on her.
She hid her smirk in her drink as the men crowded around her. The first, whose weak chin sported weedy stubble, slid onto the stool beside her, although many others were open.
“Vodka, neat.” The guy tipped his chin at the bartender like he was the shit. “Make it a double.”
“Yes, sir.” The bartender meekly served the drink.
“What are you drinking, beautiful?” The second guy had wannabe-surfer waves streaked with artificial highlights that glowed in the neon light.
Val smiled. “What I ordered, thank you.”
“C’mon, don’t be boring,” the third guy crooned. This one had skipped leg day. “Have a vodka.”
“No, thanks. I have a drink.” Val raised it.
Weedy Stubble chuckled. “Don’t you want something stronger?”
“Not particularly.” Val lowered her whiskey.
“Cheap date, huh?” Wannabe Surfer commented.
“I’m not on a date,” Val stated mildly, “and I could drink the lot of you under the table.”
The moment hovered on an uncertain cusp. One of two things would happen next: either they would get wasted together, or she was seconds from an excellent bar fight.
Either one was fine by her.
Skipped Leg Day snorted. “Sure you could, honey.”
“Try me.” Val knocked the rest of her whiskey back. The human-made booze was mild, but she still felt its burn on the way. “Double vodka, please.”
The bartender brought her a brimful shot glass. Val raised it and swallowed it in a single gulp. The three guys stared at her when she lowered her head and grinned. Skipped Leg Day looked awed, but Wannabe Surfer had an ugly twist to his sneer.
He tried to chug his vodka in a single swallow and spluttered. Skipped Leg Day laughed.
“Shut up!” Wannabe Surfer barked.
Weedy Stubble shook his head. “Crazy bitch.”
Val turned to face him with a suddenness he found disconcerting, judging by the way he leaned back.
“What did you call me?” she calmly asked, meeting his eyes.
Weedy Stubble cringed. “Nothing, ma’am.”
“Good.” Val smiled. “Little boys shouldn’t use foul language.”
“Maybe ladies shouldn’t come to places like this,” Wannabe Surfer growled.
“Okay, dude. Let’s tone it down a little.” Skipped Leg Day reached for his friend’s arm.
Wannabe Surfer shoved him away. “Take it back, bitch.”
Val tilted her head. “Sure you want to go down that road, dude?” She delicately placed the shot glass on the bar. “Because I’m spoiling for a fight.”
“Fight?” Wannabe Surfer laughed. “As if you could fight me.”
Val raised her eyebrows. “Too scared to fight a girl, huh? I don’t blame you.”
“Hey!” Skipped Leg Day lunged for his arm.
It was too late. Wannabe Surfer lunged at Val with a sloppy, drunken grimace of rage. Val slid off her stool, grabbed him by the front of his shirt to break his fall, and spun him so he gently slid to the polished floor.
“She hit me!” Wannabe Surfer shrieked, flailing at Val’s arm. “She’s hitting me!”
Weedy Stubble charged and grabbed Val’s wrists as though to restrain her. She effortlessly twisted out of his grip, then slammed both hands on his shoulders. He reeled back and almost fell.
“Guys, come on,” Skipped Leg Day feebly protested.
“Get in there!” Wannabe Surfer swayed to his feet, belligerence shining in his eyes. “Grab her. Teach her a lesson!”
Skipped Leg Day shuffled nearer and half-heartedly flailed at Val’s neck. She slapped his arms out of the way, picked him up by the seat of his pants and the scruff of his neck, and dumped him on the other side of the bar.
