closed starter for @devilthcughts // location: the starting pitcher
“Sweetheart, it’s how we greet each other in France.”
The placid expression on her face was her only response to the man, who had unsuccessfully tried to pull her in for an unwelcome kiss. Clearly, he was properly inebriated — if the dark whiskey stain on the front of his shirt wasn’t evidence enough, then the way he staggered back when she pushed him away lightly was.
But it wasn’t an excuse, and Verity de Dominicis had never been the forgiving type, because in the next moment, two whacks sounded through the sports bar: her pool cue hitting his stomach and the back of his knees in rapid succession, one to offset his balance and the other to knock him forward, so he toppled to the ground, his knees breaking his fall.
“I prefer to be greeted by a bow,” Verity smirked, turning to a woman that stood a few feet away. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
