Rhys shook his head so hard he almost toppled off the barstool.
His bloodshot eyes were fixed on my hand as he reached for it again.
"Stop it!" I snapped, yanking it back. "Don't touch me."
He looked so damn pathetic.
He opened his mouth—to apologize, maybe—but all that slurred out was, "You've got to lisss..."
I gave him a shove. Not hard.
But he still went down like a sack of wet laundry, collapsing sideways off the stool and hitting the floor with a thud.
"For God's sake," I muttered.
He made no effort to get up. Just sat there, back against the bar, legs splayed, head drooping onto his chest.
Yvaine poked him with the tip of her high heel. "He's not dead, is he?"
"Still breathing... I think." I leaned down for a closer look and nearly toppled over myself
