Harper looked up to see Drea glaring at Cujo. The swirl of pink, red, and orange lights in the nightclub flashing across her face did nothing to hide the menacing look she was giving him. Cujo leaned forward. “It’s not your seat, shortcake. I’m just hanging with Harper.” “What? I’m not allowed to go to the bathroom now?” she shouted over the pounding beat. “What? Is this freaking high school?” He mimicked her higher pitch perfectly. Harper stifled an awkward laugh, even though the friction between the two of them was unsettling. “Did you honestly ask Harper to save you a seat?” Cujo teased. He laughed as Drea stomped off toward the bar. Harper turned to face Cujo. “I really don’t know what’s eating her today.” “Not your problem. We all have bad days. She just seems to have more than most.” Cujo put his arm around her shoulder and Harper flinched. “Sorry, Harp. I didn’t think.” Cujo lifted his arm quickly. Harper grabbed his hand before he could take it away.
