“I reckon you’ll sing all night if it means that I won’t.” She looked too proud of herself.
Quinn handed me the microphone, and tossing a shot back with no salt and no lime chaser, I stood.
“You know I was doing this in my underwear the other night,” I muttered as I kicked off my boots.
“Was Ash there?” Ava teased.
“Yeah, completely walked in on me, looking for his football boots.” I took the other shot Quinn handed me and downed it. “As if his boots would be under my bed.” I grimaced at the taste of the tequila when I looked at Quinn, who was sucking her lime wedge as I realized what I had said. “Oh, is that . . . weird?” I looked to Ava for help, but she was munching her fries and seemed unconcerned.
“That Ash can’t find his cleats? Nope,” Quinn answered. “You both settling in together?”
“Yeah, weirdly . . . we are. When we’re both there, he watches football or listens to mentalkabout football.”
Quinn pressed her lips together to stop her smile. “If you want to watch something, just tell him.”
“Oh no, I practice in my room,” I told her. Okay, this was bordering on awkward. “Shot?”
This time, I took the salt and the lime. Ava was sitting curled up, waiting patiently. Quinn moved off the floor to sit beside her.
I looked at them both and then the mic. My foot started tapping as I reached out for some veggies, dipping a carrot stick into the hummus dip.
I started to pace as I thought about it. I could do this. Quinn was a friend — okay, she was friendly. I sang in front of Ava all the time. Quinn was just another Ava. Okay, she wasn’t another Ava — no one was Ava.
I heard a murmur behind me and knew that Ava had shushed Quinn from whatever she had been about to say. I concentrated as I dipped my head. The music for “The Gambler” started, and my foot began to pat out the rhythm. I could totally do this. With my eyes on the tequila bottle, I started to sing.
* * *
I was too hot. Why was it so hot? Shoving the heavy comforter off me, I rolled onto my back. Oh, movement wasn’t good.
Movement was bad. Things sloshed inside me. With a loud groan, I opened my eyes. A white ceiling looked back at me, with recessed spotlights that were thankfully off. Nice. My bedroom ceiling didn’t have spotlights. Then I remembered I was at the football house. Then I remembered the tequila. Or the tequila remembered me. Sitting up, I looked for Ava, but it seemed I was alone. Slowly, I recognized the room. I was in Ash’s bed. Gingerly, I sat up more. Why did I sleep here and not with Ava?
Probably because Jett’s bed was dodgy — I looked at the comforter in my hands, not entirely sure Ash’s was a better choice. It was just a bed, I told myself. Swinging my legs over the side of his bed, I stilled as my stomach lurched and I forced back the nausea. Why, oh why, did I drink so much tequila?
Standing up, I made my way to the bathroom and took care of the pressing need of my bladder. Splashing my face with cool water, I looked at myself in the mirror: whiter than normal, andI had a distinct green tinge. My eyes were bloodshot, and my hair looked like birds should nest in it. I was a hot mess.
My stomach rolled again, and I knew I needed food. Padding to the door, I took a final look around the room before I descended the stairs, the smell of bacon making me move faster.
“Hey.” Ava gave me a tight smile when she saw me.
“Food. Coffee. Then possibly more coffee.”
“I got you covered, Mee,” she told me quietly.
“Quinn?” I asked as I took a seat, and my head dropped into my hands.
“Oh, she’s possibly ill,” Ava told me. “She went out for a run.”
“She’s definitely insane.” I nodded, but it hurt. “Painkillers?”
“Beside you,” Ava informed me as I felt something cool touch my elbow. “Drink your juice.”
My hand reached for the juice, and I opened my eyes a crack to see the painkillers beside my other hand. “Why do I drink tequila?”
“Because you like it.”
“Huh.”
We both heard the door open and then close, and then I heard Quinn come into the kitchen area.
