Gary laughed.

This was a mistake.

The laugh came out half a beat too late and a full beat too painful. His jaw seized, his eyes watered, and he let out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a wounded animal.

“See?” he said, blinking furiously. “Fine.”

She didn’t buy it.

“Mate,” she said gently, leaning in so only he could hear, “you look like you’re actively losing an argument with your own face.”

Gary considered lying again, then realised he was running out of believable lies and facial expressions.

“It’s just a tooth,” he said. “Teeth are overrated.”

She snorted. “Spoken like a man with an infected molar.”

That hit a little close to home.

Gary shifted his weight, taking a careful sip of his pint, then another. Alcohol helped. Briefly. Then the pain surged back, sharper now, angrier, like it had waited for him to relax before striking.

He winced again. Harder this time.

She folded her arms, eyebrow raised. “You’re not enjoying this conversation, are you?”

“No,” Gary admitted. “I mean—yes. I mean—just not the jaw bit.”

She smiled despite herself. “You should sit down before you faceplant.”

Gary nodded, suddenly very aware that gravity was an active threat.

Sit down with her → Page 31

Insist you’re fine and stay at the bar → Page 39