by Emma Hart
Blaire: Eh. I was just giving them the perspective of an alien on another planet. What’s up?
I ran my fingers through my hair. If Aspen remembered, that meant Blaire already knew about last weekend.
Fuck knew I needed to talk to someone about this.
Me: She told me what happened last weekend. She was so drunk she thought I was someone else.
Blaire: Fuck.
Blaire: Um, I don’t know what else to say.
Me: I remembered, Blaire. I didn’t think she did so I didn’t say anything.
Blaire: LOL WHAT? YOU REMEMBERED?
Well, someone had to be able to laugh about this shit. It sure as hell wasn’t going to be me anytime soon.
Me: How the hell is this funny?
Blaire: Are you telling me you’ve both been walking around for the last week, knowing you’ve had sex, but pretending you didn’t remember?
Me: Admitting that I lasted two minutes isn’t on my bucket list.
Blaire: Eh, you were drunk. Tom can’t even get it up when he’s drunk that much tequila. You’re already winning.
Awesome. That was what I wanted to know.
Me: I don’t need to know about his penis. I need your help.
Blaire: You have to talk about it. It’s not a big deal, Luke. It happened. It was bad. You were drunk. It was a mistake. You can both admit that and move on.
Me: It’s just not that simple. She’s my best friend.
Blaire: So fuck her properly to get it out of your systems and move on after that.
Me: That’s your solution? Fuck her again?
Blaire: Sober this time.
Me: That’s not helpful.
Blaire: That’s all I got. I’m hungover. Try again later.
I sighed and turned my phone over. She was no help. Not that I’d expected her to be.
Rubbing my hand down my face, I pushed up off the stool and went to get water from the fridge. I grabbed a second bottle for Aspen and found the bottle of Aspirin in the drawer. I popped her two pills, then two for myself.
Not because I was hungover.
I just had the world’s worst stress headache.
I tossed back the pills and washed them down.
And sighed again.
Fuck. I had no idea how to handle this. The conversation had to happen, but how? How? How the fuck did I tell her what she’d said unless she brought it up?
Her bedroom door swung open, and I turned just in time to see a flash of brown hair dart into the bathroom.
I guessed I was about to find out.
When she was done throwing up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – ASPEN
A Hangover, A Window, And A Cushion
I was dying.
That was the only explanation for this feeling. My stomach was clenching, my head was pounding, and despite having just vomited for the third time, my tongue felt fuzzy—like someone had glued cotton balls to it.
I sat back from the toilet, using my hand to shield myself from the brightness coming in through the window. The first thing I had to do was flush the toilet and get the vomit off my damn teeth.
Hauling myself up was nearly impossible. I swear my head weighed more than my ass did—at least, it felt that way. I only just managed to brush my teeth without throwing up.
God, I felt awful.
I really should have eaten again before drinking. The tacos at around two were not enough. Not when Blaire is leading the drinking proceedings.
Very, very carefully, I grabbed my robe from the back of the door and tugged it on, loosely tying the belt around my waist. God knew I didn’t need any pressure on my stomach right now.
Luke’s smirking face was the first thing I saw when I walked out of the bathroom.
“Don’t,” I croaked, holding up a finger. “Don’t even go there.”
“Water. Aspirin. On the counter.” He nodded toward the bottle with condensation running down the side of it.
“Thank you.” I gingerly made my way over to the island, opened the bottle, and downed the pills with a few mouthfuls of water. I shuddered as I swallowed.
It did not feel good.
“How are you feeling?” Luke asked, looking way too smug behind his hand.
“Don’t shout,” I whispered. “You’re very loud.”
“No, you’re just very hungover,” he replied. “And I’m not surprised. You were hammered.”
I groaned and leaned against the counter in front of the sink. “I don’t remember a thing past, what? Nine? Nine-thirty?”
His eyebrows shot up. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Blaire got a round of Tequila Sunrise, but you didn’t want yours, so I double-fisted them.” I rubbed my hand over my forehead as if it would alleviate the pain that thumped there. “How did we get back here?”
“Declan’s brother. He brought us back around eleven.”
“Eleven? Dear God.”
Luke nodded, lips twitching. “You were really drunk. We came back, and you were hungry.”
Quesadilla.
I snapped my fingers. “You heated up Abuelita’s quesadillas!”
“Yep. And you ate it with your fingers.”
I wondered why my finger was sore. A quick glance at it confirmed I had a small burn on the side of my left middle finger. “That explains the blister.”
He looked at me pointedly. “Is that all you remember?”
Was there something I needed to remember?
Dear God. What if we’d had sex again? What if I vomited on him during it? I couldn’t ask that, could I? Jesus, this was wrong. This was fucking up.
“Um, did I do something I should remember?” I tried to keep my tone light and breezy, but it came out a little too hesitant for that.
“Yes.” He nodded firmly.
Frowning, I took another swig of water. “Did I flash anyone?”
“No. Only me when I helped you take off your jeans.”
So that was how that happened. “Oh, God, I didn’t give Justin my number, did I?”
He laughed. “No, Aspen, you didn’t give Justin your number. I’d never let you do that.”
“Thank God. I didn’t make out with anyone, did I?”
“No making out.”
I frowned again. I had no idea what I could have done. Flashing my boobs and making out with a bad choice of a guy was my usual go-to. If I’d done something else, I was stumped.
Mind you, racking my brains wasn’t working in my favor. I couldn’t remember anything except the quesadillas.
Huh.
The quesadillas.
They felt like they were important.
“Doin’ okay over there, Einstein?” Luke smirked again.
“The quesadillas. Are they important?”
“You’re getting warmer. Keep thinking.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
He shook his head. “Oh no. This is on you. Try to remember.”
I sighed. I had too much of a hangover for this. “Okay. You made quesadillas. I had the hiccups!”
“Yep. Let me know how that letter to the tequila company for “breaking your diaphragm” goes.”
Shit.
I’d said that.
I closed my eyes. “Will do, smartass, will do.”
He laughed. “Carry on.”
“Did I fall over?” I tilted my head to the side. “Trip over something?”
“Your own feet.”
“Right. You put me to bed. Pulled off my jeans. I remember now.” I was getting close. “I asked you something about doing it again.”
I had a bad feeling about this.
He nodded, his messy hair flicking back and forth. “You were very, very adamant you couldn’t tell me what you meant by that, so I tucked you in and turned off your light.”
Oh no.
I was remembering.
“And then I said I’d tell you if you promised not to tell Luke.” I was frozen. I couldn’t move. Except for my heart. That was running a fuck
ing marathon inside my ribs. “And you promised.”
“And then,” he said slowly, his intense gaze holding mine, “You told me that you and I had had really, really bad sex last weekend.”
The water bottle slipped out of my hand. Kaput. Right to the floor, where it exploded, spraying water all over the floor and the cabinets.
“Oh God,” I breathed.
And then I’d told him I couldn’t tell him because of our friendship.
And that I’d had a dirty dream about him.
Oh.
Fucking.
Hell.
Slowly, I brought my hands to my face, covering my mouth and nose when all I really wanted to do was climb up onto the kitchen counter, open the window, and haul myself out of my fourth-floor apartment.
Yup.
My head hurt enough that it wouldn’t matter. The asphalt sidewalk might just finish me off. I was going to die of embarrassment anyway.
“Oh no,” I whispered into my hands, the gentle sound being muffled.
Luke grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have a confession to make.”
“Go ahead. This can’t get much worse.” I dropped my hands, only to bring them back up and fist my hair.
“I remembered.”
What? “What?”
“Last Saturday.” He scratched behind his ear, glancing away from me for a second. “I remembered it. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and when you made up that story, I just figured you couldn’t remember and made up something random.”
I shook my head. Once. I really couldn’t do that much.
“Obviously, now I know that you made it up because you didn’t want to bring it up.”
“I thought you’d forgotten!” I said, my voice a little too shrill. Like a villain in a Disney movie. “You asked me what happened, and I panicked! I was never supposed to admit it. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
I pushed off the counter and walked into the living room. This wasn’t happening, was it? It had to be a drunken dream. I was still drunk. Still sleeping. In my room.
I hadn’t really told him that, had I?
I had. Oh, God. I had.
I’d told him we’d had really bad sex.
This was the worst day of my life.
I turned to face him.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m under no illusions about how bad that sex was for you,” Luke said, spinning on the stool. “Only pornstars cum in two minutes, and that’s because of smart editing.”
I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that left me, even though my cheeks burned. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? I’m the one, who, to use your words, was a tap-tap-squirt.”
Oh, God, it could get worse.
I sank onto the sofa, burying my face in a cushion. “Oh, Goddddd.”
He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. I could barely breathe with my face this far into the cushion, but it didn’t really matter. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted to disappear.
I didn’t think I could feel worse when I’d woken up twenty minutes ago.
How, how naïve I’d been. To go back to vomiting in the toilet. That was better than this. So much better.
I took a deep breath and lifted my head to see Luke standing behind the sofa with another bottle of water in his hands.
“Here,” he said. “You need to rehydrate, or you’ll feel worse.”
“There is literally no way I could feel worse than I do right now,” I said, taking the bottle. “Not a chance in hell. I’d bet my bank account on it.”
“That’s not really a whole lot, is it?”
“My savings account.” Which was sitting at a tidy three-and-a-half thousand dollars, thank you very much.
“Oh, well, then you’re right. You probably can’t.” He shrugged his wide shoulders and perched on the arm of the sofa.
Opposite end to me.
I drank some of the water, then recapped the bottle and looked down at the cushion on my lap. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten so drunk I hadn’t even known who he was.
That I’d been so drunk, I’d told him the one thing I swore to myself I never would.
Now what the hell did we do?
This wasn’t a secret anymore. We couldn’t just pretend it never happened.
“Now what?” Luke asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not like we can pretend it never happened.” I paused. “There’s an elephant in the room, and unlike you, I have a feeling it’s going to last longer than a couple minutes.”
His lips thinned out into one flat line. “You know that was because of the tequila, right?”
I shrugged.
“Your subconscious knows.”
Oh, look. I could feel worse.
“Give me your bank details,” I muttered, my cheeks flaming red-hot. “I’ll just transfer you my savings.”
He laughed behind his hand.
He knew about the sex. He knew about my dirty dream. Thank God he didn’t know it’d happened the night he’d stayed here.
“If it makes you feel better—”
“If it follows the theme of the morning, it won’t,” I drawled.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But I’ve had at least two dirty dreams about you since it happened.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be making this less awkward?”
“Well, keeping secrets hasn’t exactly worked in our favor this week, has it?” He got up and walked over to the coffee machine. “Coffee?”
“Can you lace it with arsenic?”
“I can, but it probably wouldn’t taste that good.” Shrugging, he pulled down two mugs and set to it. “Look, Asp, it happened. Neither of us have to keep it a secret anymore. That’s a good thing.”
Yeah, well, it was a good thing for him. He’d gotten an orgasm out of it. I’d gotten nothing but disappointment and embarrassment.
Ah. The life of a twenty-something female looking for love.
Disappointment and embarrassment.
They didn’t tell you that when they told you it was time to grow up.
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “I kinda preferred it when it was a secret.”
“Shit.” He switched the mugs out and looked over at me. “It’s awkward, isn’t it?”
“What, me knowing that you know that you’re the worst sex of my life? Not at all. It’s a fucking delight.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel about it.”
“I’m sorry. Your two minutes of banging me like a drum were the best of my life.”
“There’s no need to be so sarcastic.”
“Then fuck off,” I muttered. “I’m too hungover for this. And embarrassed. So embarrassed.” I buried my face in the pillow again.
There was a silence for a moment and then, “I should probably leave right now, huh?”
I nodded, not lifting my head. “Please do.”
“All right. But this conversation isn’t over, Aspen. Not by a long shot.”
And that was what I was afraid of.
***
Blaire picked through the popcorn bowl, looking for the biggest pieces.
I hadn’t eaten all day. I hadn’t been able to. It’d taken another nap and more pills than I cared to admit before I was able to stomach anything but water. I’d even thrown out the coffee Luke had made before he’d left.
Between my hangover and my admission last night—and the subsequent conversation—I didn’t have the appetite anyway.
I was too hung up on the fact Luke knew he was the worst sex I’d ever had.
And that he’d known it before I’d ever admitted it.
I hadn’t processed this yet. In fact, I was at the point where I was willing to avoid him for the rest of my life. Maybe move to a remote town in Montana.
Or Alabama. My Texas heart couldn’t cope with the cold in Montana.
Alabama would work.
A piece of popcorn hit me on the cheek and bounced down to the floor. I turned to Blaire who was star
ing at me with one eyebrow raised.
“Well?” she asked, holding a piece of popcorn between her finger and thumb. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Move to Alabama,” I answered without thinking.
“I see where you’re going with this, but no, sorry. I need you here. Alabama is too far.”
“New Mexico?”
“You ain’t even goin’ to Dallas,” she shot back. “You aren’t moving. You can’t afford it.”
“I have money in my savings.” Although, if Luke ever called in that bet, I was fucked with a capital F.
“Oh, my God. Grow a pair, Aspen!” Blaire put the bowl on the coffee table and pulled the blanket we were sharing a little tighter to her waist. “Boohoo. Luke knows y’all fucked and it was bad. Newsflash, it’s not like you told him it happened. He knew anyway!”
I folded my arms across my chest. I already knew they’d spoken, and I’d have been pissed if she didn’t love him as much as I did.
You know, as a friend.
“I’m gonna tell you what I told him. Suck it up and accept it as a mistake and move on or whip off your panties and fuck for real.”
“I don’t think either of those are an option,” I replied slowly.
“Then get your ass back to school and become a fucking astronaut,” she shot back without blinking. “He’s been your best friend longer than I have. Are you really gonna let one drunken mistake ruin twenty years of that?”
“It’s not just that. I’ve had…dreams…and apparently, I told him that.”
She spat out her Coke. “Shut up!”
“Oh, it gets better. Worse.” I paused. “He’s had them, too.”
Now, she choked.
That’s right.
On her own spit.
That was a special kind of skill.
“There’s no coming back from this, Blaire. Our friendship is doomed. My life as I know it is doomed.”
She blinked at me, then grabbed her phone. “I’m ordering you a pizza. You’re dumb when you’re hungry.”
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. It felt good. A bit of the frustration I’d felt since the truth had whacked me in the face this morning left me, evaporating into the air around me.
