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“Harper, I want to take a shower.”
“Don’t let me stop you. Finally, some entertainment.” I pull up my phone and hit my Spotify playlist, circling my finger. A second later, “Boss” by Little Simz fills the bathroom. “Make this good.”
“Bro,” Trevor walks in and looks between us with a goofy grin. “What’s going on in here?”
“Nothing, trust me. I’ve had better dates with my gay roommate.”
Trevor chuckles as Lance speaks up. “Harper is leaving.”
“Oh no, I’m not,” I say, hopping up on the sink counter.
Trevor studies me, taking a step into the bathroom, his smile widening. “You drunk?”
“Lil’ bit. Rock and Rye apparently. I have questions.”
Trevor leans against Lance’s bathroom door. “Fire away.”
I look to Lance instead. “You said you had enough friends.” I lift my hands. “Where are they?”
“What friends?” Trevor looks between us.
“His friends from high school.”
Lance clears his throat. “Harper, I need to shower. I have shit to do.”
“Me too. So?” I raise a brow, looking between them.
Trevor speaks up. “No one really stays here unless they have to.”
He’s covering for him. I can tell. It’s a sibling thing, and I know it well because I have my own. “Is that so?” I say like I’m concluding a point, which I’m not. It’s then I realize I got drunk in my ex-boyfriend’s closet, snooped through his things, stole his clothes, and am currently interrogating his little brother for absolutely no reason. Whatever skeletons Lance has, he’s not about to give them up, save his nasty Chapstick. René is insane, and I’m officially on the same train.
“Is that all?” Lance prompts, and I bob my head.
“For now.”
Trevor laughs as Lance shakes his head. “I see why you love her, brother. I really do.”
“At least one of you has some sense,” I hop off the sink as the first wave of nausea hits. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to freaking throw up.”
“Shit, grab her,” Lance says, just as I start sinking toward the floor.
I wake up in bed in the pitch dark, unsure of the time, and hear the noise of dinner. It’s seven. Jeannie runs a tight ship. Mealtimes do not vary. Head pounding, I make my way to the bathroom to pee and check my appearance. I look like I feel. My complexion ghastly white. I don’t have drunk amnesia, I remember vomiting—very, very well—while Lance held my hair.
Chalk resting in the back of my throat, I crank on the sink to get a quick drink and freeze when I see the color of my tongue. I lean in and inspect it to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.
“Oh my GOD! OH MY GOD!” I scream as I begin to inspect my teeth. I hear the thunder in the distance of two incoming Prescott boys as I furiously rinse my mouth. “Oh my GOD!” I gag out while I squirt half a tube of toothpaste on my finger.
Lance is the first to reach me and bursts into the bathroom on bated breath.
“What, Harper? What is it?” He darts his gaze around the room as I furiously scrub my teeth.
“Oh, God, Lance,” I’m gagging again, my heart thundering as I inspect my mouth. “Something’s wrong, Lance. Something’s so wrong!”
“What? Harper, you’re scaring the hell out of me.” I furiously wash my mouth as he presses me, putting his head level with mine at the sink as I cup water into my mouth. I’m struggling to get more in as Lance stills me and pulls me upright.
“Damnit, spill it.”
“I think,” I gag again, “I think I ate a bug.” I stick out my tongue just as Trevor pokes his head in. “Is she alright?”
