Chapter 118
She hums, content. “That sounds like cute privilege. I give Tessa that sometimes. She’s really, really cute. Did you know she never gets drunk? Ever? I think she might be a little bit cursed.”
“Mhm,” I say again, but I’m not really listening anymore. Not to her words, at least – just her voice, the rhythm of it, the way her breath slows in my arms like she finally let herself be tired.
She presses her lips to my cheek, a kiss so light it feels imagined. I suck in a sharp breath. Then she pulls back,
mumbles something that might’ve been “goodnight,” then she frowns a little, eyes fluttering like she’s fighting to stay awake. “Are you gonna sleep too?”
“In a minute.”
“You’re warm,” she mumbles.
“You’re drunk.”
“Do you still like me when I’m drunk?”
“I like you always.”
That’s the last thing she hears before she drifts off, completely relaxed against me, her breathing soft and even. I stay there for a while, holding her like the moment might disappear if I move too fast.
And when I finally lay her down, tucking the blanket over her and
0.00%
17404)
Chapter 118
1:288 Vouchers
brushing her hair away from her face, I kiss her forehead and whisper something I’m not brave enough to say when she’s awake.
Then I lie down beside her. And I stay.
EMILIA
Somehow, I never seem to learn from my mistakes.
My head is pounding like it’s trying to crack itself open from the inside – embarrassing, considering I barely drank half as much as Lacey did last night, and yet I ended up twice as drunk. Story of my life.
Maybe it’s time I finally admit that alcohol and I just aren’t a good match.
I’m still sifting through the fog of my bad decisions when a flood of light slices through my eyelids. I hiss and groan, dragging the covers higher over my face.
“Rise and shine, beautiful,” Liam sings, his voice far too chipper for a human being. I squint one eye open to see him standing by the window, sunshine pouring in behind him, grinning like it’s Christmas morning.
“I hate you,” I mutter, dragging the blanket higher – only for him to yank it off me with no remorse.
Now would be a good time to mention a deeply unfortunate discovery I’ve made: Liam is a morning person. A fully functioning, smiling–before–coffee, chipper–at–dawn kind of morning person. Even when he complains about early practices, he does it with a grin. It’s sick.
24.35%
17.41 D
Chapter 118
11:288 Mouchers
“Come on, Em. Work with me here,” he says as he plops down onto the bed beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. I squeeze my eyes shut and chant under my breath, If I can’t see him, he doesn’t exist.
He snorts. “I made you hangover breakfast. All you have to do is drag yourself to the bathroom and brush your teeth.”
“I’d rather die.”
“You promised to make me breakfast, remember?” he says, poking my arm.
I crack an eye open. “I did no such thing.”
He grins wider. “Must’ve slipped your mind. The alcohol probably short–circuited your memory.”
“Drunk Emilia doesn’t make breakfast promises.”
“She does to me,” he says with a smug shrug, like he’s won a Nobel prize.
I sigh and finally sit up, hair a disaster, mouth dry, and soul slightly dead. “If I go brush my teeth, will you stop being so happy?”
“Not a chance.”
–
While I brush my teeth, I hear him moving around the room drawers opening, cabinets shutting, the occasional hum like he‘ s living in a feel–good musical. I lean against the sink, staring blankly at my reflection. My eyes are puffy, my hair is a mess, and regret is written all over my face. After a long moment of self–pity and minty toothpaste, I decide to take a shower. Maybe
53.09%
17.41 D
Chapter 118
1 288 Vouchers
if I feel a little more human, I’ll stop wanting to fling myself off the balcony.
As soon as I step out, towel in hand and still damp, Liam’s there, extending a bottle of water like he’s my personal nurse. “Drink all of it before you even think about getting dressed,” he says with a raised eyebrow.
“Bossy.”
He shrugs, unfazed. “Efficient.”
I down the water, mostly because I don’t want him hovering. By the time I’m dressed, he’s plated breakfast and waiting like a smug diner host. Toast, eggs, avocado, perfectly arranged.
“I don’t have an appetite,” I mutter, sinking into the chair
anyway.
He leans his head on his palm and grins at me. “Cooking requires energy, love. Don’t insult the effort.”
—
I sigh but take a bite. My stomach protests at first, but the food is good – annoyingly good. He even knows how much pepper I like.
80.86%
