Snow White as a general rule didn't much bother with Jackson. A girl really only needed someone to laugh at her name once before she knew he should rightly go fuck himself with a rusty screwdriver. But most days if she wanted a drink, she could drink in peace. He wasn't so clueless as to keep engaging her when she didn't respond.

Today, though. She hadn't choked on whiskey since she was fifteen, but she did right then, staring at him through her spluttering as phantom pain flared between her legs. "What?"