“Lemme stay,” Trish says now in a drunken slur. She smells like whiskey and is dressed in a skimpy bikini top and a pair of jean shorts that show more ass than they cover. She’s always tried a little too hard around Brogan, but it’s like I’m her substitute now, and lately she uses any excuse she can to get close. Like tonight when she tagged along with Keegan, making him think it was a date until they arrived and she changed her tune. “Not a good idea,” I say, taking a half step back.
