The camera gave a little jump, and it was easy to see why. The girl's boobs had exploded out of the dress in a jiggly mass of bouncing pandemonium. Most of the nakedness was digitally blurred, but no amount of editing could hide the truth. A mostly topless girl was flopping around within arm's reach ofmyguy.
The only good news – if you could call it that – was that Jake was focused on Ronnie, who suddenly struck out with a right hook. Jake turned, and the fist glanced off his jaw and kept on going, sending Ronnie stumbling forward until he tripped over the semi-topless girl and fell face-first onto the tile floor.
And that was it. He didn't move.
I squinted at the screen. Was I seeing things right? Dorian and Ronnie had been defeated not by Jake, but by the tile floor and their own drunken clumsiness?
Well, that was a first.
The camera zoomed in on Ronnie's face. His eyes were open, but vaguely unfocused. He blinked a couple of times before lifting his head to look around. When his gaze met the camera, his eyes widened. He lifted his head higher and slurred out, "Hey, asshole! No pictures!"
And then, his eyes slammed shut, just before his face hit the floor. The camera lingered on him for a long moment and then panned back to Jake.
Watching, I heard myself gasp. He was striding toward the exit with Nipple Girl in his arms. She was cradled tight against his chest, smiling as he carried her away from all the commotion.
And then, they were gone.
I heard myself say, "You'vegotto be kidding me."
The way I saw it, Jake had some explaining to do. Somemajorexplaining.
