“Shoulda known better,” I mumble as I watch the ice cubes slowly melt in my Jack and Coke. “Shoulda fuckin’ known better.”

“You know, talking to yourself is a bad sign. Do I need to bring you by the hospital?”

I look up at Lexy, the rocker-chick bartender at Chrissy’s, who’s giving me a look like she either feels bad for me or thinks I’m pathetic – maybe a mixture of both.

I’m a little tipsy and still wondering what the fuck just happened. Actually, I know what happened, Donna totally ambushed me. She invited me to dinner just so she could flaunt her rich, city-girl life in my face....