"What the fuck are you doing with my woman?!" Roman growled, grabbing Reid by the collar.
Ah. Classic Roman. Always defaulting to physical violence instead of logical reasoning.
"First of all," Reid wheezed, adjusting his glasses, "your girl is currently attempting to kidnap me onto a dance floor, which, frankly, is more terrifying than your threats."
Roman's fist clenched tighter, but before he could throw a punch, Gwendolyn yanked his arm back.
"I'm not your girl," she snapped, shoving him away. "And leave him alone!"
Roman barely heard her at first—his eyes had just landed on the nearly empty drink in her hand. He frowned, looking her up and down.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, his tone shifting from rage to disbelief.
Reid, who had been vigorously adjusting his tie and mentally preparing to get punched, exhaled dramatically.
