I think I’d rather suffer a hangover than keep on retching into the bushes with cramping stomach muscles though.
Fuck this. I’m done.
I’m going home.
College is over. Ifthis ishow my last night of recklessness is supposed to go, I say to hell with that.
Back in high school, I never turned down a challenge. We all do stupid shit as teenagers. It was fun back then, but I feel nothing more than a fool right now.
So what if I refuse to drink more?
The guys will holler for a while, then get over themselves by tomorrow. Even if they don’t? Who fucking cares?
I won’t see most of those people again after tonight.
With the resolution to flip them a bird, I head inside, pausing in the living room doorway. Colt’s not there. Neither is my drinking buddy but Kelly-Ann’s giggling in Brandon’s lap, and Mikaela’s about to start stripping. I should deal with her, but...
One thing at a time. I have myself to deal with first.
“Is she done?” I ask Brandon, motioning my chin to where Blair sat a moment ago.
If she bailed first, I’m off the hook. I can head home without telling my friends to fuck themselves.
“She decided to play,” he explains with a drunken chuckle.
It takes three heartbeats for his words to sink, then they hit like a bucket of ice-cold water and I’m suddenly sober.
“What?!”
“She picked another watch,” Finn explains like he thinks I didn’t understand. “She’s in the closet with Alan.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? She’s wasted. What did we say about touching drunk women?”
“She talked sense. She’s just tipsy, man. She knew what she was agreeing to. Leave her be. She didn’t want to drink anymore, so either this or—”
“Orwhat?!” I boom, getting in his face, my heart racing as the memory of Mia—not drunk, but drugged—stabs my mind. “Or fuckingwhat, Finn?”
“Hey, chill out. What the fuck is your problem?”
To be perfectly honest, I don’t know the answer to that question, but a biblical kind of wrath sweeps me head to toe as I glance around the room at the many familiar, drunken faces.
This is ridiculous.
What the hell was I thinking?
Am I overreacting or do they need some sense knocking into their heads?
I get that this is the last hurrah for all seniors. The last college party ever, time to be stupid, but there’s a line you shouldn’t cross.
Sometime in the past couple of years, I changed. Grew up, and now, standing in Brandon’s living room, watching people I’ve considered friends for years, I realize I won’t miss ninety-five percent of them.
I blame my brothers for this sudden maturity.
I’m three months shy of twenty-two. It’s still okay to be reckless, but I no longer think in those categories.
I think about the hangover tomorrow and whether I’ll have the strength to play with my nephews when we go to Mom’s for the monthly get-together. I think about Cassidy and how she might go into labor any minute, so it’d be nice to be fucking helpful. I already called dibs on babysitting Noah while they’re at the hospital.
What if her water breaks tonight? She’s two weeks from her due date, so it might happen. How the fuck will I help if I’m drunk off my ass?
