“There’s more Diet Fizz in there than rum, I promise.”
I take a tentative sip, and when it doesn’t burn, I take a much larger one.
His smile grows. “Good?”
“Tastes like coconut.”
“That’s the rum.” He plops on the bed beside me, and he has a much smaller glass of whiskey in hand, being economic on his sips. In a matter of minutes, I down the whole drink but barely feel a thing. Maybe it hasn’t kicked in yet.
I glance at Lo. The way he watches me with rapt attention sets my whole body aflame. I just want him on me. In me. Dear God. “More,” I tell him. “Maybe I should take some shots.”
“I don’t know your limit,” he says, standing. “And the whole point of this isn’t to get you sick.” He fixes another mild drink. I can barely look at him without imagining his body on mine.
I join him by the desk and grab a shot glass. “I need something with a higher alcohol content.” Before he can protest, I pour some of his whiskey into a shot.
“A whiskey shot?” he says with raised eyebrows. “Really? You’re going to fucking gag, Lily.”
I narrow my eyes in challenge, and then throw back the liquor in my throat.
I gag. But I do manage to swallow it down without spitting it back up.
He cocks his head to the side liketold you so.
I touch my neck. “That was horrible. I think my insides are burning.” I try to clear my throat.
“Now you’re just being dramatic.”
He pours me a shot of something clear and then something else and holds both of them up. “Vodka. Cranberry juice.”
I nod and drink the first and wash it down with the second. Ah, much better.
He shakes his head at me. “You done?”
I run my eyes over his abs, and the spot between my legs clenches.No, no, no.“Another.”
I barely hear him mutter, “This is stupid.” Hey, it was his idea, but I can tell he’s rethinking it. A lot. An hour later, one more drink and a few more shots, I head to the bed and the whole world sways. Whoa.
I think it’s hitting me.
I fall backwards onto the mattress. I can’t see my feet. Everything swirls, and I no longer…even a little…care about sex. Hell, I don’t think my body is capable of moving on its own accord right now.
I lie supine on the bed and stare at Lo as he shambles about the room, cleaning up spills and shutting away bottles.
“Lo…ren,” I say his name that feels funny on my tongue. “Ren…lo.” I smile stupidly.
“I’m glad you find my name as amusing as the rest of your sisters,” he says, locking the last of his cabinets. Then he sits beside me while I shut my eyes. “How do you feel?”
“Spinning,” I murmur.
“Don’t think about it,” he instructs. “You think you can crawl underneath the covers?”
“Hmm?”
Everything starts fading. And I drift into the blackness.
I don’t know what time it is. All I know is that there’s a monster rumbling in my stomach, and it wants out. I’m underneath Lo’s comforter. I don’t remember even getting here or putting my head on his pillow. Lo sleeps on the other side, facing towards me, but he keeps his hands to himself.
I debate whether I’m really sick or not. The effort to walk to the bathroom sounds strenuous and painful and way too taxing on my head and body. But I am past nauseous right now. And then my stomach contents start rising.
