By the time everyone sat down to eat, Derek had already consumed several beers and started directing almost every joke toward me.
He criticized my quiet voice, mocked my careful manners, and asked whether Ryan needed permission before speaking.
I answered with polite smiles because I knew exactly what men like Derek wanted.
They wanted anger because anger gave them permission to pretend they were the victims.
When he asked whether I had ever been in a real fight, I simply shook my head and reached for my lemonade.
Technically, my answer was misleading, but I had no intention of discussing my championship career with a drunken bully.
Derek leaned across the table and told everyone that I looked like someone who would cry if a door slammed.
Ryan’s jaw tightened, but I touched his knee before he could respond.
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, Derek picked up another beer, stood behind my chair, and announced that he was going to teach the princess how to loosen up.
