4
I'm out of the car and stumbling to the curb before it has even rolled to a complete stop. I had to get out of that car before I killed somebody in it with the stiletto heel of my shoes.
"Jesus, Bella!" Samantha exclaims, catching me before I can fully faceplant on the concrete. "Please, no suicide tonight!"
"It'd be considered social suicide if I let you people convince me to get my ass on the dance floor," I mumble.
"Oh, shut up," she laughs, hauling me through the glass fronted doors that stand open under a neon lit sign that reads 'Coral Lounge.' "Tonight is going to be fun, I promise."
"Your definition of fun greatly differs from mine."
"Jilling off to Jane Austen is fun for nobody," she shoots back.
I may or may not step on her toe.