Ethan Stone's ears turned red. The bar stool was high, but not as long as his legs. He hadn't put on shoes yet, and when he touched the ground with one foot, he felt weak as if he couldn't find a foothold.
He didn't even have the strength to stand up. Ethan Stone was gasping for breath, not understanding why this happened when he had only drunk two glasses of juice.
Oliver Scott didn't get an answer. He found that Ethan Stone was still confused, as if he was confused by his words.
Oliver Scott turned his head and K!ssed him sideways, pinching his waist through a layer of clothes.
Ethan Stone's heart beat uncontrollably, his thoughts stagnated, and he looked up to bear it. Oliver Scott smoked cigars and drank several different kinds of wine that night, but Ethan Stone didn't feel uncomfortable at all. It was as if stars collided in his mind. The shining points of light circled Oliver Scott's cold and unsmiling face, symbolizing the score. The slot machine spit out a pile of coins.
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