“Have they said anything this morning?”
“No. They’ll probably never talk to me again.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
I drag my hands over my face. “What do I do?”
“Here’s what I think,” Wren says. “The sooner y’all talk, the better. You should reach out tonight or tomorrow to address this. Since Jude initiated the kiss and said a lot of lovey-dovey stuff last night, they’ll probably appreciate a chance to explain themselves, too. Then you can go from there. If the two of you are as close as you seem, you’ll figure it out, and everything’s going to be okay.”
I swallow. “Are you sure?”
Wren presses their lips together. “As sure as I can be, given the circumstances.”
Nodding, I accept their advice. “Okay. Thank you.”
Wren reaches across the couch to rub my back. “Always, Olli-pops Always.”
The buzz of my phone against my nightstand sends a spike of pain through my forehead, and I let out a pitiful groan.
To say I was hungover would be more than a massive understatement—it would be untrue. Celeste had to drive Ripley because I was still too dizzy and nauseated this morning. I haven’t been able to keep much down, and my skull feels like it might explode at any moment. My memory of the night is fuzzy, and I must have blacked out a few times because I hardly remember Nikki leaving.
But… I have a few recollections.
I remember cuddling up with Oliver on the couch, breathing him into my lungs, and clinging to him like a lifeline.
I remember him caressing my arm, holding me close, and squeezing me protectively. I remember begging him not to leave me alone in the bed I was supposed to share with Nikki, and I remember his reluctance to join me because I wasn’t sober. I remember?—
Fuck.
I remember kissing him. Oh,god,I kissed him, and it was perfect. His lips were plush and gentle. His face was warm andsoft. Every point of contact between us crackled with electricity, sparks flying, my heart soaring.
I remember drifting peacefully to sleep, not just because I was exhausted, but because I felt so incredibly safe with my favorite person in the entire world.
Most of all, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I remember a single echoing thought—a recurring realization I’d known at some level for a while, but only now was I inebriated enough to face it:
I’ve somehow fallen in love with my best friend.
From the moment we piled into the car to leave Druid Hills this morning, Celeste and Max insisted we discuss what had happened at the party. They demanded to know how I ended up sharing a bed with Oliver, clearly concerned that more than sleeping had occurred.
For the most part, I was able to quickly dismiss their fears. I was drunk. In my inebriated state, my touch-starved nature and my platonic fondness for Oliver manifested as overt physical affection, and at some point I crossed a line. I’ll talk to Oliver and explain the situation to Nikki, and everything will return to normal.
What Celeste and Max don’t realize is that I’ve already decided Nikki and I need to break up.
It turns out Nikki was right all along: there was something between Oliver and me. A one-sided infatuation, no less—not from him, as she had assumed, but from me. After all, Oliver is ace. He’ll never see me as anything more than a close friend, and that’s okay. But I know it wouldn’t be fair to Nikki to keep our relationship going while I juggle these complicated feelings for Oliver. She deserves better than that. I’ll have to find my own way to cope with them, and only when I accept that Oliver will never reciprocate my romantic feelings will I be able to move on and pursue a relationship with someone else.
But, one crisis at a time. First, I have to end things with Nikki.
With Herculean effort, I reach for my glasses and my phone. I notice an unread text from Oliver first, and my stomach flutters with anticipation.
Oliver
hey Jude… I think we should talk about what happened last night. I’m really sorry for crossing a line with you, and I want to make sure we’re okay. I care about you and our friendship so so much. can we talk in person? maybe tonight or after class tomorrow?
A wave of nausea quickly replaces the fluttering in my stomach. “Fuck,” I croak. I knew Oliver would remember everything, but I was counting on him being just as hungover as I am. Or just not wanting to talk about it. But of course, we have to talk about it. How could we not?
Jude
yeah of course. let’s talk tomorrow after class though - I’m hella hungover and feel awful today
