“Are you OK?”
I open my eyes to see Bradley kneeling beside me, Jesse watching like I’m a moderately interesting TikTok, and Grace, further away, no longer paying attention to me at all.
“What the hell happened?” Bradley asks as I put my hand to my chest. My heart is racing like I’ve been sprinting uphill.
“She had two cocktails and then threw up in the vase,” Grace says.
“Two cocktails! We were gone for less than ten minutes.”
“She’s a student. I didn’t know she’d be such a lightweight.”
“Grace!” He clicks his tongue. “She’s nearly thirty. I don’t think she was going to frat parties.”
“Oh, I completely forgot.” She laughs—a false laugh, though it seems to work on the men. “How could I be so foolish? Brie, will you forgive me?”
I consider the possible replies. Grace pressured me into shooting two impossibly strong cocktails, but I’m a grownwoman. I can hardly blame her. More than anything, I’m embarrassed.
“Of course.” My saliva tastes metallic, like I’ve been sucking on dimes. “It’s OK.”
“Happens to the best of us, Grace,” Jesse says.
Bradley nods in agreement. “It’s not your fault.”
I can’t believe it. Within a minute, the sympathy in the room has shifted to Grace. I can feel her eyes on me.
“How are you feeling?” Bradley asks.
“Just a little woozy.”
“I’m not surprised.”
I try to sit up, but he stops me. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t lie on your floor forever.”
“You can’t go home yet. Not till you’re sober.”
“I am sober,” I insist. “I just felt a bit sick.”
“Take her upstairs.” Grace sounds annoyed, as if I’ve intentionally disrupted her cocktail party. “She can rest in the spare room until she’s able to make it home.”
I feel Bradley bristle at Grace’s harsh tone, but he mutters agreement. Before I can say anything, he’s looped his arms around my back and legs.
“Look at this hero,” Grace says, as Bradley lifts me like a child.
“Very impressive,” Jesse murmurs.
“Who says all those hours in the gym were just vanity?”
“Shut. Up,” Bradley grunts.
Jesse’s laugh follows us to the stairs. Bradley pauses, then begins to climb. I wonder if he can manage it—I’m not as much of a waif as Grace—but I also don’t feel like climbing the stairs myself. When we reach the landing, he puts me down and curses.
“Can you make it the rest of the way?”
I nod, then feel a wave of dizziness and instinctively lean on him for support. We walk slowly together to the bedroom—hisbedroom—and he helps me to lie down.
“Can I get you anything? You look like death.”
