The goose bumps were standing all over her bare flesh and she stomped her foot, at least partially because of the cold. Jane would claim it was wholly because of her frustration over the length of the line and continue insisting that chain smoking cigarettes kept her warm. The law stated that people had to be at least twenty feet from the door of an establishment to smoke, and fortunately, we were much farther than that.

“This is truly disgusting,” Jane grunted, flicking her cigarette to the dampened sidewalk and smashing it hard with her stilettoed boot.

“Maybe we should just call it a night,” I suggested hopefully. Our fake IDs had not been as impressive as Jane’s connection had promised, and this would be the fifth club we would be turned away from, if we ever managed to even make it to the door.

Since we were going out, I had reluctantly allowed Jane to dress me, so everything was ill-fitting and far too revealing for the cold Minnesota night.

There was a heavy mist settling over us, and I felt chilled to the bone. Jane’s top was completely sleeveless, but she refused to shiver or admit that any of this fazed her. Her plan was to get crazy drunk and hook up with somebody completely random, and there was very little I could do to reason with her.