I screwed off the lid and poured the white moscato into a glass, bringing the bottle with me to bed. It tasted exactly like a twelve-dollar bottle of wine should, too warm and too sweet, but it would do.

I finished off the glass within five minutes and poured another, filling it to the top this time.

Ten minutes later, that was gone, too, and I was pouring another.

So much for only two glasses.

I plugged the phone into the wall and set it on my nightstand, and then I stripped down to nothing before crawling into bed. One of the many good points about living alone was sleeping naked without a second thought.

The sheets brushed against my skin as I spread out beneath them and relaxed onto my down pillow.

The phone buzzed on the surface of the nightstand, and I found myself scrambling to pick it up, giggling.

Can’t sleep. Wishing I were still in the Springs.

I fought the urge to hold the phone to my chest. Watching Gunnar and Kirby’s lovers’ spat, followed by three glasses of wine in less than twenty minutes, made me feel oddly sentimental.

I can’t either. Gunnar just left.

And Kirby?

Yes. They had a fight.

Young love.

I guess.

Don’t be such a hard-ass. It happens.

To whom?

My brother Travis. He fell pretty hard last year. Now he’s married before he’s legal to drink.

How old is he?

Twenty.

So he was married at nineteen? Weird.

Not really. They’re good together.

Oh, so you approve?

If they love each other, sure.

How do you know you love someone at nineteen?

You’ll meet them next week. You’ll see.

It’s a date.

;)

I put away the phone and finished off my glass, feeling everything slowing down. Even my eyes were blinking slower. I stretched out my legs, letting the sheets glide over the tender parts of my skin. I glanced at the phone, grinned, and reached over. I tapped it a few times and held it away from me, waiting until a long tone filled the room.

“You’re still up?” Taylor asked, his voice sounding tired but not sleepy.

“This phone buzzes every time you text me, and I’m lying here, naked, in bed,” I said, hearing my words slur. “I have this urge to put it between my legs and hope you text me again.” I knew how completely inappropriate I sounded, but I didn’t give a single fuck.

For a full ten seconds … there was silence.

“You don’t think it’ll work?” I asked, impatient for a response.

“Are you drunk?”

I pressed my lips together, attempting but failing to stifle a laugh. “Kirby might have brought a bottle of wine.”

“I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t, but I’m alone, so why not?”

“Oh, so you don’t drink in public.”

“Or in private—if anyone is around.”