I laugh at her infectious energy even though I know she’s hungover. Movement in my periphery draws her attention to my brother and her blue eyes widen. “Oh hey, James!” Her voice squeaks slightly and I smile at her perpetual nervousness around my brother.

“Hey, Harper, how you feeling?” He gives her a knowing smile and she rolls her eyes.

“Fine and dandy! They say the cure to a hangover is being under twenty-five. Sorry, old man,” she jokes back, and the flirtiness in her voice kind of irritates me. It shouldn’t. Also, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure James has zero interest in Harper.

“Ha-ha. Well, I hope you have a great Christmas. Gab, we should go.”

“You too,” she sings, drawing out the o’s. “Love you, mean it,” she says as she turns towards me.

“Love you, mean it, Harp.”

Two shots of Jameson later and James and I are sitting on the floor in front of his fireplace with a pizza between us. The television is playing Home Alone, one of our favorite holiday movies, but we turned it all the way down so we can talk. The snow is still flurrying through the air but it isn’t sticking too aggressively and we’ve already received strict instructions from Dad to leave no later than ten tomorrow morning. The fire, the alcohol, the Christmas feels, it all feels so romantic and I have to actively remind myself that this is not a date.

“Ready for another?”

I nod, knowing that I’m feeling it but also that this is the same guy that taught me how to take shots on my sixteenth birthday, so I’m not that much of a lightweight.

“I love that you can drink.” He chuckles. “Warms my heart.”

“I bet it does.” I laugh remembering my birthday. “You were the first person to ever get me drunk.” He had come home for the night just for my birthday and after Mom, Dad and Monica went to bed we stayed up watching movies which led to him getting me drunk for the first time.

“I remember it so vividly, you were hilarious,” he says as he pours us another shot.

“And we vowed to never talk about it.” I shake my head. I remember next to nothing about that night except for telling James a million times that I loved him. Thank God, I didn’t say anything more than that.

He brings the shot glass to his lips and he looks over at me for a beat before shaking his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were staring at me funny.”

“I just remembered something and I…it’s weird.”

“What? Tell me!” I demand.

“Well, that night you told me you were a virgin and I was kind of still wondering if you were.”