The curly-haired girl

"Are you directly out of your mind?!" Linao reveled in the mingled frustration and disbelief streaming across his face. "You don't even know him! You're supposed to be here with me." The nerve. Jim glared at her as if she'd committed some terrible crime and decided to flaunt it in his face.

"Ah… I see." Turning slightly away from the fence, her eyes closed in a peculiar, contemptuous tilt. "This from the asshole who ditched me in front of the club, hit on some random bimbo, and finally decided to re-establish contact with me two and a half hours later." Her arm went up, fingers flying back in a gesture of pure understanding. "You're right. How could I have been so thoughtless?"

It struck Jim dumb for a split second. He blinked faintly, mind rewinding the events of the night crammed with people and music and noise. No… He hadn't seen her all night, there was no way she could have… "What are you talking about?? I haven't been hitting on anyone…" The indignant look had shifted to one of sheer bewilderment.

"About five-six," Linao described, her eyes still dreamily downcast to the laces on her boots, as if she were recalling a fond memory. "Curly, brown hair, tank top, good tan… Just your type, probably. Maybe you can get a ride from her later." The calm expression vanished as she sent an icy glance toward his face. "You'll need one."

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