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I groan, my stomach roiling as I lick my lips and try to sit up.
Nope.
I flop back down again, my feeble moan disrupted by a soft snicker.
“Rough night?”
“What?” I croak.
“Here.” The bed moves beside me, and I smell him—the sweet, fresh scent that is all heaven.
Ethan.
“Drink this.” His fingers are feather soft as he brushes them over my ear.
Braving the light again, I force my eyes back open and eventually make out his thick, jean-clad thighs, his crumpled T-shirt, and then the glass of water he’s holding.
“You need to rehydrate.”
Wincing, I try to sit up, but my body seriously feels like it’s been hit by a bulldozer.
What the hell did I do last night?
Ethan’s arm comes around me, helping me to sit. I lean against him, my hand shaking as I hold the glass and try to drink. Water dribbles down my chin, but I force it down, knowing Ethan’s probably right about the whole hydrating thing.
Hangovers suck.
This is why I don’t drink.
The first time I got drunk off my ass was at Rachel’s place. We were sixteen and curious, and it’s lucky we both didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. When her mom walked in the door, she read us the riot act. Apparently. I don’t remember it, so she did a replay the next morning as we sat there nursing killer migraines. She made us clean her entire house, and then we had to go to my place and confess all… then clean Mom’s house too.
Worst. Day. Of. My. Life.
Well, second worst.
A pain that seems more vibrant in my current condition scorches me, and I’m suddenly fighting the urge to sob uncontrollably.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Ethan takes the glass off me and lays me back down. “You’ll feel better soon. Let me get you some Advil.”
He walks out of the room, and my eyes rove the space. I’m on a big double bed, tucked under the covers. The space beside me is still neatly made, which makes me think we didn’t do anything last night.
My scrambled brain tries to piece together what went down, fragments of unease filtering through me as the blurry images flash past my mind’s eye. We kissed on this bed, but then… I can’t remember.
My eyes bulge as I picture myself giving him a blow job, but… I don’t remember how that ended, and then my stomach starts churning as I recall some guy’s hands on my ass, me pushing him away. Ethan roared. He shoved a guy. I remember that. And then?—
I bolt upright, my head spinning. I hold it with a groan as the faces of my Sig Be sisters appear crystal clear. They were pissed.
“I screwed up,” I whisper.
The door pops open, and Ethan reappears with two red pills. I take them without question, trusting him because he’s good and kind and carried me out of the party and doesn’t deserve to be publicly humiliated.
I guzzle the pills, willing them to work at lightning speed. Setting the glass down, I nearly spill it, and Ethan grabs it before it hits the floor.
“I take it you don’t drink much,” he murmurs.
“No,” I croak.
“So, why’d you get so wasted last night?”
