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Luna puts up a hell of a fuss, whining and slurring incoherent complaints, but she obeys her friend. She stumbles over, tucking herself under Kate’s free arm, letting her half-lead, half-drag her down the hallway.
Right before she disappears from sight, Luna turns. Droopy eyes land on me, one dipping in a wink as clumsy fingers wiggle a goodbye. “Bye, handsome.”
6
JACKSON
I wakeup with a woman in my bed.
Blonde hair tickles my bare chest, the fresh-from-a-bottle, burns-your-nostrils peroxide kind. Like a mop splayed across my chest, roots tinged rusty.
Oddly, it reminds me of Lux and the time she tried to dye her hair in our bathroom with bleach from the dollar store. Suffice to say, the following day was spent soothing teenage tears and restoring her original dark shade.
I don’t remember her name. I only vaguely remember her face. But I definitely remember slamming shots like they were water and bringing home the first girl who showed interest in me. The friend of whoever Nick brought home, I think.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. A release. A distraction from who I wished I was bringing home. Now, though, as I carefully roll out of bed and creep out of the room, the regret hits me pretty hard, and I wonder just how shitty I’d feel if we’d done anything more than kiss and fondle each other before passing out.
Getting plastered and hooking up with randoms isn’t me. I don’t like it, it doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable and out of my depth, emotions I grew up drowning in and now actively avoid. Their occurrence is few and far between, catching me off guard at rare moments, and always, without fail, I wish I could take them back.
Last night especially.
I avoid my friends’ gazes as I shuffle into the kitchen. I make a beeline for the coffee pot and fill a mug to the brim, topping the dark liquid off with the hazelnut creamer our fridge has been stocked with since Ben moved in. Gracious man that he is, Nick allows me two whole sips before cooing in my ear, “Have fun last night?”
I hum a yes. Because I did, for a brief, odd moment.
It’s just not the moment I gather Nick is referring to.
Hands squeeze my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake. “That’s my boy.”
From the opposite end of the counter, Ben finishes dishing pancakes onto plates already laden with every breakfast food imaginable. After sliding two mine and Nick’s way—I dare not mention Nick’s sudden lack of roommate complaining—my younger friend props his elbows on the counter, chin in palm, brows wiggling. “You see Blondie was there?”
Nick’s loud groan cuts off my response. “Seriously? I swear to fucking God, I can’t get away from that girl.”
“No, my Blondie,” I correct him, just as quickly correcting myself. “The waitress, I mean.”
Luna.
Alas, the damage is already done, Nick’s smirk promising trouble. “YourBlondie, huh?”
“Shut up.” My knuckles connect with his shoulder. “Your waitress was there too.”
His smirks drops with his gaze, his breakfast suddenly more enticing than teasing me. “I know.”
“The redhead?” Bacon dangling from his fingertips, Cass slings an arm around Nick’s shoulders, shaking our friend teasingly. “You know her name yet?”
Curls fly as Nick shakes his head, irritation clear on his face. A hint of confusion, too. Like he’s not quite sure why. It’s a weird look on Nick, and God, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of enjoying it.
Cass snorts. “That's kind of pathetic, buddy. You're turning into Jackson.”
“Hey?”
Cass waves off the middle finger I flip his way, ignoring me in favor of continuing his interrogation. “Just ask her out.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't want to.”
