Yates' expression grew increasingly cold.
A thought suddenly flashed through my mind.
Could it really be true?
Was it possible that Yates has feelings for Rachel...
What a chaotic situation this is...
I had been so serious in my criticisms earlier...
Feeling a bit guilty, I started drinking the fruit wine on the table.
I have always had a good alcohol tolerance, so I kept drinking one glass after another.
As long as I kept drinking, I wouldn't have to face Yates' questions.
But after a few glasses, I began to faintly sense something was off.
I was actually starting to feel a bit dizzy.
"Molly, I think you've had too much to drink," Yates said with concern.
He seemed genuinely worried, though I couldn't tell if it was just my imagination.
"No... no, my alcohol tolerance... you... you don't know, right... I can drink anyone under the table..."
For some reason, my speech was becoming uncontrolled, my tongue feeling a bit tangled.
"You've had too much. Let me take you home," he said.
"Home? Whose home? Yours? Mine? Hmm... or maybe your place would be better."
