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I don’t remember getting back to the dorm or taking my clothing off. I lift my head two inches and immediately negotiate with God, whom I do not believe in. The room is spinning.

I drop my head, shifting only my eyes over. My glasses are on the night stand, neatly folded so at least I wasn’t that far gone. If I crushed them that would have been bad. Explaining to my parents that I drank a single drink and was so drunk I couldn’t remember how they were crushed would have been as terrible as the pounding in my head.

Never again. Not a sip. Not a taste of salt. Ethanol is a poison and my sample size is now going to stay at one, and it’s very conclusive.

Across the room, Daniel’s bed creaks.

I remember tacos. I remember him talking me into the one drink. Did I have more than one? I remember the sour, then sweet, then warm and thinking it was interesting. After that, it’s holes. A floating feeling. A streetlight. His warm body holding me up. Did I giggle? I don’t giggle. The idea makes my ears hot, which makes my head throb harder.

I don’t remember much. I really hope I didn’t say or do anything I can’t take back.

“You’re alive,” Daniel rasps from his bed. His voice is full of sleep.

“I’m not sure that’s accurate,” I whisper.

He laughs, and I wince. “Oh right, inside voice,” he says softly.

I pull the blanket higher to cover up my bare chest. Just knowing I’m only in my boxers beneath it makes me feel exposed. “Did I—” I have to swallow, and it’s like licking a toilet. “Did you have to help me?”

I can’t look at him. I have a feeling I know the answer.

“You are a lightweight, Quinn.”

“It was a very strong drink, I think.” I pause. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

I glance over at him and watch as his eyes shift to the floor next to my bed. I follow his gaze and see a pile of my clothes that are not in my hamper. He brings his eyes back to my face, and something careful moves over his expression.

“You walked back to the dorms just fine. Even climbed the stairs like a champ. Although you did want to knock on other doors to tell them how good margaritas are.”

I cringe and bite my lip. “I’m never drinking again.”

He huffs out a soft laugh. I reach for my glasses on the night stand and put them on, bringing his handsome face into focus. Maybe now I can read him better.

“So…after…”

He lifts his eyebrows in a silent question.

I swallow again and want to throw up from the taste. “Did you help me…in here?”

“You don’t remember?” he asks cautiously.

My heart starts to gallop like it’s just decided it wants to compete in a race. I shake my head and even that hurts.

He takes pity on me, not making me answer out loud. “I did your shoes. You did your glasses. The rest was…a group project.”

I want to sink through the mattress.

“Did I say or, uh, do anything crazy? Some people do crazy things when they drink.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. “No. You were perfectly sane,” he says.

The relief hits me so hard I get dizzy. I nod, once, and immediately regret the motion.

“Good,” I whisper.

He watches me for another second like he might add something, then rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Drink your water,” he says, and it feels like I’ve heard him say that before. “Then I will show you the magic of a greasy breakfast.”