Page 33 of Pucking Forbidden

My hand rests on the knob, and I pause, glancing back at her. She’s curled up on the couch, peaceful now. I don’t want to leave her. I want to stay and keep watch over her all night, but I know I can’t do that. We’re friends, and I need to keep the boundaries between us firm so I don’t lose her.

The people I care about usually leave me once they realize I’m not worth sticking around for, and I don’t want that to happen with her.

Exhaling, I turn back to the door and walk out before I convince myself to stay.

CHAPTER ELEVEN: HANGOVER

HADLEY

I wake up slowly, awareness creeping in through the dull throb behind my eyes. The first thing I notice isn't the headache. It’s the light. The sharp, unforgiving morning light, cutting through the gap in the heavy, floor-to-ceiling drapes and landing directly across my face.

I groan, pressing my face deeper into the pillow. The texture is all wrong. It isn't the soft cotton of my bedsheets. It’s the slightly textured, heavy weave of the throw pillow from the living room.

The realization hits me with a jolt. My stomach does a nauseous flip. I’m not in my bedroom.

I’m on the couch. I’m still wearing the clothes I went out in last night.

Memory comes back in disjointed, blurry fragments. The loud, pulsing heat of the bar. The cold, crisp air of the parking lot. A cab ride. The feeling of being carried by large, steady hands. The bathroom. Being sick.

I stay still for a long second, my face buried in the cream-colored cushion, waiting for the room to stop its slow, rhythmic spinning. My mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and a faint, lingering nausea sits right at the base of my throat, making me hesitate before I even think about moving.

I force my eyes open, squinting against the brightness of the apartment. I’m alone, but the space feels different. There’s a lingering sense of presence…a memory of a low, gravelly voice telling me to drink water.

Slowly, I peel my face away from the pillow, the dull throb in my temples intensifying with the movement.

“Brilliant,” I mutter into the fabric, my voice rough. “Fucking brilliant, Hadley.”

How am I going to be able to face anyone again? My stomach churns as I remember the taste of the beer, and then I think of Julian.

My stomach twists again, and this time it has nothing to do with being sick.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead as if I can physically hold the memories back. It doesn’t work, and they come flooding to the forefront of my mind anyway.

Julian was standing beside me, steadying me as he walked me to his car. He was so cool and calm, not making a big deal out of the situation. He brought me back to my place, gave me water, and even…

I groan again. He even cleaned up my vomit.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, mortified.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. I went to a bar. A real bar, not some carefully supervised, polite gathering where everything is controlled and quiet and predictable.

I let myself get out of control. Three beers, and I was drunk like a fucking rookie.

God, I must have seemed like such a child to everyone last night.

It’s not like I couldn’t have gone out to the pubs or the clubs while I was in England. I just…didn’t. It never really appealed to me. Partly because I didn’t want to, and partly because I knew the exact brand of hell my dad would rain down on me if he ever found out I was wasting my academic time on something so reckless.

But a bigger part of it was that I didn’t have anyone to go out with. I didn’t make any real friends during my semesters in London. I spent my entire time over there isolated in a sea of unfamiliar faces, retreating into my shell and hiding behind my textbooks.

This group of Night Hawks girls is different. It’s not like they pressured me into overdoing it at the bar. None of them would ever do that. It’s just that, for the first time in years, I feel comfortable enough around a group of people to finally let my guard down, to try new things, and to actually be myself. I drank too much because I felt safe, knowing that they genuinely care about me.

Lainey cares about me just as much, of course, but we haven’t had a chance to live in the same place for a long time. When my dad moved us to Colorado Springs in the middle of my high school years to launch his sports agency and law firm, I had no choice but to pack up and follow him. Before that cross-country move, Lainey and I were inseparable. We were next-door neighbors who shared everything. But years of long-distance friendship over FaceTime can only do so much, and without her around to pull me out of my shell, I had forgotten how to just be a normal girl.

Finding that freedom with the girls last night had felt amazing, but that didn't mean I wanted to embarrass myself.

A hot, stinging wave of humiliation washes over me, making me press my face back into the sectional cushion. I squeeze my eyes shut as the vivid, horrifying memory of the bathroom floor flashes behind my eyelids. Out of all the people to witness my total lack of composure, it had to be Julian. He's the one who had to hold my hair and clean up after me.

The fact that he cared for me so tenderly makes my heart ache with a terrifying intensity, but the absolute shame of him seeing me at my worst makes me want to dissolve right into this couch.