“Another one please,” Mia called to a passing waitress, holding up the empty margarita jug.

     “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Peyton asked, eyeing her friend with pity.

     “Nope,” she replied. “I can still remember my name…and his.”

     “Is this about Darius?” Peyton asked.

     Mia snorted. “Darius. Fucking Darius fucking Carathurs. Fuck him. This is all his fucking fault.”

     “That’s a lot of fucks you’re giving away there,” Peyton said, crossing her arms on the table. “Wanna talk about it?”

     A jug of margarita was plonked down in front of them and Mia whooped. She sloshed some into her glass and lifted it to her mouth, gulping greedily, hoping the...