Toni had been pouring a round of shots for a group of middle-aged alcoholics when you came strutting into the Alibi Room.

Some might’ve said that ‘strutting’ was a little dramatic. However, you were nothing short of a drama queen- a title you wore like a badge of honour.

You walked up to the bar counter, hips swaying and heeled boots clicking on the wooden floor. You were walking with the recently-pregnant Veronica, who ran up to Kevin with a smile.

You were slower in your affections, waiting until you were at the bar’s counter and your jacket was on the stool next to you before pulling into a kiss by her collar.

The brunette, used to you by now, just kissed you back slower. You always kissed her so hard- like you were afraid of losing her, if you ever could.

She pulled away and you wiped your mouth as you sat on the stool next to your coat and purse. She poured you a shot of Vodka and you downed it quickly, prompting a laugh from her when you promptly and smoothly asked for a cop of coffee.

V plopped herself on the seat next to you, stealing your coffee the second you put it down. You were all some sort of weird, mixed-race blended family. There was Kev and V who lived a house down from Fiona on the left, and then you and Toni who lived in the house between Kev and V and Fiona.

This usually meant passing through each other’s houses on a regular bases. Still didn’t mean you liked her stealing your coffee. You ordered another one as you poured at Toni.

God, those puppy eyes would get her in trouble.

After placing down the second cup of coffee, she kissed her thumb and used it to smooth the wrinkles that had formed between your eyebrows.

Some of the drunker men were leering at you and Toni- something both of you had just leaned to ignore. It might’ve been legal, but it wasn’t common. The pair had just accepted that they would get shit for loving each other publicly.

It bothered Toni less than it bothered you. No matter what, as a Latina or as a foster kid, she had to get used to the stares young. You, on the other side, had grown up as a straight-looking bisexual as well as a white fuel and a kid from a stable family.

You had never been looked at like that. So, the taller girl would kiss your hand, forehead or cheek and tell the gawking men or offended Catholics to go fuck themselves.

You both had a habit of making fun of one another too- or was it a habit that made you make fun of one another?

You’d call her your little baby gangster, and she’d call you a pretentious, white-girl drama queen.