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After drinking a shit ton of tallboys last night, my head pounds, the constant thumping combined with Trent’s voice making my head feel as if it has its own pulse. My mouth tastes like stale beer and cigarettes, which is weird considering I don’t smoke.
I roll onto my side, confused as fuck, and glance over at Trent, who’s pulling a shirt over his head. “What did I do last night?”
He stands, tugging at the hem of his shirt before he runs his hands down the front of his khaki shorts to smooth out the wrinkles. “You hooked up with some punk rocker chick.”
What the fuck?
I let out a deep, guttural groan and lay back on the stack of pillows, my head pulsing with each movement I make. “Was she a smoker?”
He nods. “Yeah, it was gross. She must’ve smoked half a pack of cigarettes while we were playing beer pong.”
“That explains the nasty taste on my tongue.” I close my eyes and blink a few times to clear the sleep from them. “Was she at least hot?”
He scratches the blond stubble along the corner of his jaw as he thinks over my question. “Not bad, I guess. But you can do better. More like you have done way better.”
“I have to stop drinking,” I grunt, annoyed I can’t remember a fucking thing from last night.
We went over to the Delta Sig house around eleven o’clock. Even though we’re not in the fraternity, Trent and I are friends with everyone who lives in the chapter house. Our social circles cross paths all the time, and when we’re not playing hockey, my friends and I spend a fair amount of time partying it up over at Delta Sig.
“How fucking sad is it that I can’t even remember how I got home last night?”
“I carried you,” Trent says, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.
“You’re shitting me.”
He shakes his head, laughing. “Nope. I wish I were. You were so trashed Drake had to help me bring you home. By the time we reached the end of Greek Row, you were snoring on my shoulder.”
I cover my face with my hands and sigh. “Wow! I never get that drunk. Did one of those fuckers drug me or something?”
He chuckles. “That was all your doing, bro. After you ate five pot brownies, it was a wrap.”
I sit up, stunned by his confession. “I didn’t. No, please tell me I didn’t eat them and you’re making this shit up.”
“Romeo had a big ass bag of them out back. You were so drunk you kept shoving them down your throat, even though Drake and I kept telling him to keep them away from you.”
Romeo’s the nickname for Mason Covington III, the president of the fraternity and our friend since freshman year. His brothers gave him the name when he was still a pledge, because they said he had no game with girls. That much is far from true now.
“Fuck, man. I’m so screwed if we have to take a random drug test.”
I never do drugs, at least not on purpose. Ever since we got the bad news about missing two games this season, I’ve been on a little bit of a bender.
“Yeah, you better hope not.” Trent opens a few of my dresser drawers and throws a shirt and shorts on my bed, as if giving me a hint to get ready. “I doubt it, though. They tested us two weeks ago. You should be good for a while. Drink a lot of water and try to flush out your system. I think Jamie still has some herbal tea hidden in the cabinet over the fridge. Maybe that will help.”
Irritated with myself, I grab the clothes on top of the comforter and swing my legs off the side of the bed. “Did I have sex last night?” I take a look at my dick, my morning wood in full swing, tenting my boxer briefs. “I don’t feel like I had sex.”
“Nah.” Trent chuckles. “I doubt you could have gotten it up even if you wanted to bang that chick. Do you remember anything from last night?”
Thinking it over, I slip my arms into the short sleeve navy Strickland Senators ice hockey tee. “I remember some of it, mostly the drinking parts. Not so much the girl. I pounded a few shots after we got to the house, followed by at least a six-pack or more of Budweiser tallboys.”
My stomach turns at the thought of the twenty-four-ounce cans of beer that went down way too easy. “After that, I think I had a few Jell-O shots some girl was passing around, and then a few more shots of Cuervo. The rest of the night’s a blur.”
Trent slaps me on the back, my balance so off I stumble forward, forced to clutch the edge of the dresser to keep from falling. “Dude, can you go easy on me today? I can barely fucking walk right now.”
