“It’s your funeral.” I shrug, turning my attention back to the crowd.
Someone is chugging a cask of beer, and two girls are standing on stools facing one another, balancing on one leg as they take shots.
I lose myself in the music, putting Kai out of my mind.
“Do you wanna dance?” Liza asks, tugging me to her.
“Here?” I chuckle, allowing her to pull me in for another kiss.
Liza is sexy, and she knows how to move, her hips thrusting against mine as she dances, my hands sweeping over her back as we move to a wall.
Her kisses become more heated, but I need more beer. I’m still too wired from my day.
Great, drink to relax, dickhead. Just like your old man.
“Can we go back to yours?” Liza breathes into my ear, and I burst out laughing, stopping when I see the hurt in her eyes.
“Mine? Nah, Liza, we can’t. Sorry. I’m gonna grab a stronger drink. Wait here, okay?”
Liza nods, waving at some girl she knows, both of them squealing in recognition. The other girl checks me out brazenly, before whispering in Liza’s ear. Liza looks smug, her eyes trailing over me as she blows me a kiss.
Fuck, she thinks we’re an item.
I need to stop fucking her.
I fight my way to the kitchen, spotting a half-filled bottle of vodka.
You’ll do.
Without caring whose it is, I knock it back, the familiar sting in my throat making me feel better instantly.
I stare out of the window, wincing as I lift the bottle to my lips, glugging it like it’s water.
To be fair, this is what I do.
Get completely wasted and put everything off until the morning.
But when the morning comes, it bites me in the ass harder than it ever has before, making me hate every fucking day more than the last.
I frown when I see Lorena laughing, stumbling out of the door with some guy, pulling him close to her.
I fucking knew it.
She’s fucking with my boy, and I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind. Just as I’m about to deliver my ton of bullshit, the blond hair shimmers in the moonlight, revealing none other than my love-drunk best friend.
I sigh heavily, dropping my gaze when they start making out.
Some fucking party this is turning out to be.
I raise the bottle to my lips again, finishing off the last of the vodka before turning to look for some more.
There’s always alcohol at Gregory’s house—copious amounts of the stuff, if his past parties are anything to go by.
From memory, he has a garage attached to the house where he keeps the spirits, and right now, I’m feeling fucking spiritual.
Pushing past even more couples that are hanging out in darkened corners, I reach the garage with a grin on my face.
Like a beacon, the glossy white fridge beams at me, and I nod back in acknowledgement.
