“You still pissed at me?”
It was four in the morning, and saying we were wasted was an understatement. We’d all gathered around the bonfire, though I didn’t know how we were sitting upright. Well, Zellman was lying on the ground. His eyes were open, and his head was propped up. He stared at the fire like it was the rainbow to his m*******a high. If he could’ve made love to the flames, I’m sure he would’ve tried.
I looked across the fire to where Jordan sat. His eyes still seemed alert. That wasn’t a surprise. He had more body mass, so he had a better tolerance—or that was my excuse for how my own sharpness had lessened.
I felt myself tipping over, but I caught myself. The log had been sturdy and sound when I first sat down. Who knew when it had decided to tip out from under me? I glance
