I let him in and we walk to the kitchen. In the hallway, I catch sight of myself in a mirror hanging in the hallway. My hair is in a bun and I’m wearing no makeup. I’m wearing another shirt of Noah’s, which is so big it turns my body into a shapeless lump. I look horrendous. At least my headache has faded.
“Want anything to drink?” I ask once we’re in the kitchen.
“Water, please.” He sits on a kitchen stool. His shirt isn’t too big. It’s black and shows off his arms.
I pass him a glass of water. “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
He takes a long sip. I watch his throat bob.
“It’s just you in the house, right?”
I walk around the kitchen island and sit on a stool beside him. “Are you here to murder me?”
He cracks into a laugh before sobering. “I wanted privacy. To talk about … the party.”
Now I regret sitting so close to him. Can he see the pink on my cheeks? “Yeah, it’s only me. Just a disclaimer,” I add, putting my hands up, “I barely remember what happened between … us. But I’ve heard recounts.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you remember?” I ask.
“Yeah. Vaguely.”
“What do you remember?”
“What did you hear?” he asks.
So he doesn’t want to say the words. Fine. “That we kissed. Made out. Whatever.” I eat another spoon of cereal so I have an excuse to do something with my hands.
He nods. Drinks another sip of water. The clock on the wall ticks.
“Ruby is pissed, huh?” I say to break the painful silence.
“Yeah.” I must look crestfallen, because he adds, “I’m sure she’ll come around.”
“Maybe,” I say. “You know she likes to keep grudges.” The problem is, I’ve never been on the receiving end of them.
Oliver hesitates. “I think she’s less upset about the … physical act … and more that she thinks you were keeping secrets. That you liked me or something. Once you explain it was the alcohol, it’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“The alcohol?” I echo. My stomach turns, and it’s not because I’m reminded of my hangover.
“Yeah,” he says. His eyes are so pretty.
“How inebriated were you?”
“Pretty wasted. But not out-of-my-mind or anything,” he adds.
I sigh. “If I use alcohol as an excuse, that’s another lie I’ve told.” And I must stop lying.
You’re such a liar, Eve.
He stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
