17. High Tension

I furrow my brows. “Excuse me?”

She walks toward me and in that moment, something takes over me. I stand upright and my hands are balled at my sides. I tell myself that I’m prepared to attack this woman if she does it to me first.

She’s taller than me—much taller—and she’s wearing heels, which only emphasizes our height difference. Regardless of this, I won’t let myself be intimidated by her. She’s already called me a whore; she’s already crossed a line.

She stops a few feet in front of me and narrows her eyes at me. They’re dark and lined with even darker eyeliner. Her skin is golden brown, and her dark hair is being held in place by a hair claw.

“You must think you’re so special, don’t you?” she demands. “You strut around like you own the place and you don’t even realize how ridiculous you are!”

This takes me aback because I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I don’t strut in any way and even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business.”

This makes her chuckle. “Of course