I elbow him again and jerk up from his body and he’s loose enough to not be able to stop me. But apparently, he still goes after me. Even drunk, his reflexes are better than my clumsy retreat and he winds his arm around my waist and rolls us on the ground, until he’s hovering over me and his body is settled between my spread thighs. “Told you I’d snatch you up and get you on your back,” he muses, slurs actually, the syllables thick and bleeding together, and I shudder under him. “What? We had a deal.” I fist the grass. “I didn’t throw myself on you. You pulled me down.” “Eh. Whatever.”
