"Hey, isn't that a little unfair to us?" someone protested.
Phoebe Faulkner heard him and looked at the man who had spoken up. She put on a pout and said, "Can't you guys just go easy on me? It's one of me against seven of you."
A girl's voice always sounds a little flirtatious after a few drinks. That, combined with her coy pout, left the men in the room speechless. "Fine, fine, fine. We'll let you have this one. You win."
Once the dice were ready, the game officially began.
Phoebe Faulkner had a good chance of winning. After all, she only needed to roll lower than one other person to be safe.
But even so, Phoebe Faulkner still ended up drinking several glasses.
As she drank more and more, Phoebe Faulkner's head grew fuzzy. It got to the point where she could no longer see the dice clearly. The men seized the opportunity to pour her more drinks, and she downed every last one.
"Come on, drink up, drink up!"
