“What the fuck are you doing here?” “Haven’t I told you she’s my friend and I don’t want you near her?” Clay says. “Friend? A friend who made you wear a fucking dress—” “I deserved it,” my best friend grinds out, flexing his muscles. “Did she leave you naked, tied to your bed on your own birthday, at your own house? Did she take a picture of you like that?” He spits out the words. “This ho—” “Call her that again…” Benson and I say at the same time, stepping closer to him.
