Page 67 of Clinically Awkward

“We’re great at this,” Fitz protested. “We’re providing moral support!”

“You’re providing anxiety.”

“Same thing.”

Hayden leaned back, grinning. “You know what the real problem is?”

“That I slept with my best friend’s sister?”

“No. The real problem is that you’re going to have to do this sober.”

I stared at him.

“He’s right,” Nathan said slowly. “If you’re drunk, you can blame it on the alcohol. But if you’re sober, you have to own it.”

“I hate that that makes sense.”

“It’s terrible advice,” Gabriel said. “Don’t get drunk before confessing to Julien.”

“Why not?” Fitz asked. “Liquid courage is a time-honored tradition.”

“Because Julien will know he’s drunk, and it’ll make everything worse.”

“Fair point.”

I slumped back, letting my head rest against the worn cushion of the chair, and squinted up at the ceiling stains like they might offer some divine guidance. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence—an oddly comforting reminder that at least something in this apartment was still functioning. My hand wrapped around the sweating neck of a beer bottle, knuckles white, as if holding onto it might stop the world from spinning out of control. This was my life now. Midnight in my apartment, surrounded by four idiots who genuinely believed that “just tell him the truth” was sage wisdom, and me, contemplating my own mortality because I had made the spectacularly idiotic decision to sleep with Vivian Darcy. At least the beer was cold, even if my prospects weren’t.

And the worst part? There was a dull ache in my chest—equal parts panic and guilt—but somehow, it didn’t outweigh the reckless thrill still buzzing in my veins that I would do it again.

In a heartbeat.

Because apparently, even self-preservation took a backseat to bad decisions and a beautiful woman.

“Quinton?” Gabriel’s voice cut through my spiral.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

I looked at him. At all of them. Four of my closest friends, sitting in my apartment, drinking my beer, giving me terrible advice, and genuinely trying to help despite the fact that I had created this mess entirely on my own. “No,” I said honestly. “I’m completely screwed.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, grinning. “But at least you’re screwed with style.”

Nathan raised his beer. “To Quinton’s inevitable demise: may it be swift, painless, and extremely entertaining for the rest of us.”

“Hear, hear,” Hayden said.

They clinked bottles again.

I grabbed another beer from the six-pack and joined them.

If I was going to die, I might as well die drunk.

“Okay,” I said. “New plan. I tell Julien the truth. Tomorrow. In his office. Sober.”

“Terrible plan,” Fitz said.

“Absolutely terrible,” Nathan agreed.