Wasted.
I shift, burrowing my face into the pillow and the soreness between my legs serves as a reminder. The events of the prior evening come filtering back to me in slow motion, bringing with them a wave of heat that rushes to my cheeks and a pit of dread that settles low in my stomach. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter, swallowing against the dryness in my throat as nausea washes over me—not just from the hangover, but from the weight of what we did.
God, what was I thinking? My first time was supposed to be special, meaningful. Not some two-minute romp in my dorm room with my head spinning from the gallon of jungle juice I chugged at some Friday night frat party.
My head begins to pound as if I need the reminder of how much I drank, and I groan, bringing my fingers to my temples.
Ethan’s soft lips press against my shoulder with a chuckle. “Morning, beautiful. I’m guessing you don’t feel so well?”
“You guess right,” I mumble, my voice scratchy like I smoked a pack of cigarettes.
“Last night was incredible,” he says, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I agree, with zero feeling, but if Ethan notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he tugs me into his chest and stares into my eyes with a look so intense, it makes my heart pound.
I bite my lip, willing him to say something—anything—to make me feel better about what we did last night. For him to tell me he loves me. That he got carried away, but he promises the next time will be better—special.
His lips part, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what romantic thing is about to spill from his lips when he asks, “Do you have anything for breakfast?”
My heart stalls inside my chest, and I stare at him, certain he must be messing with me.
When he grins, I nudge his chest with the back of my hand.
“Pancakes would be amazing,” he adds.
Or not.
The nausea from earlier returns with a vengeance, forcing me to take deep breaths through my nose so I don’t get sick.
Once I’m certain I won’t barf whatever meager contents of my stomach remain, I try my best to plaster on a smile and say, “Unlike you, I live in a dorm room, Ethan, not an apartment. I don’t have groceries, let alone a skillet to make pancakes.”
“Oh. I thought maybe you had one of those hot plates.”
I shake my head, trying not to get angry, because the only thing that will make last night worse is if we get into a fight the morning after. “Nope. Sorry.”
“Okay. So . . . do you want to order something, or . . .?”
I grit my teeth, trying not to let my irritation show. We had sex for the first time last night—my first timeever—while I was inebriated and all he can think about the minute he opens his eyes is his stomach?
Am I being irrational right now to be at least a little bit pissed?
I swallow down my anger, not entirely convinced I have a right to it. After all, I consented. I said yes. Well, maybe not that exact word, but I knew what was happening and I went along with it because I wanted to prove to him that I care about him. This is on me as much as it is him.
But he was barely buzzed. He was in his right mind; you weren’t.
I shove the thought aside, needing to clear my head. “Just let me take a quick shower, and I’ll scrounge up something.”
Rolling out of bed, I stand, steadying myself with a hand on my desk as the room sways.God, how much did I drink?I grab my shower caddy from the large wardrobe and head for the communal shower in our suite where I allow the hot water to wash away my conflicted feelings about last night.
Once I feel slightly more human, I towel off and down a glass of water along with two Motrin as I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, noting the dark circles beneath my eyes with a grimace.
I thought I would feel different after I lost my virginity—changed in a good way, like I’m more of a woman or something, but I don’t. I just feel . . . disappointed . . . empty.
Shit, maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just bad at this, and I’m an awful girlfriend.
A million different judgments run through my head, but I shove each of them back down to where they came from because now is not the time. I still have the rest of the weekend tospend with Ethan before he goes back to Michigan State, and then I’ll have all the time I want to contemplate everything that happened.
