“Brownies are in the oven,” Cressida announces, breaking the heavy moment and gaining my eternal devotion as a result. “I’m going to watch a rom com.”

“Ooooh! Can we watch Sweet Home Alabama?” Anne asks eagerly.

“You said you were going to Kappa, Anne!” Emma protests.

“We haven’t had a girl’s night in forever,” Anne replies. “I’m going to change.” She dashes up the stairs.

Emma measures out more tequila then hands me the mixer. “Shake this.”

“Where are you going?” I ask as she exits the kitchen.

“To put on pajamas!” she calls back. Cressida smirks at me.

Ten minutes later, we’re all sprawled across the living room, brownies in one hand and tequila in the other, watching Sweet Home Alabama.

I laugh so hard my sides hurt. Emma squeezes my hand when Melanie makes jam with her mother. Anne ruins all the best lines by saying them a few seconds too early.

And it’s probably my favorite night in college.

Chapter Twenty-One

I wake up on the living room floor. At least it’s an upgrade from the bathroom tile. I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Emma is sprawled out on the couch. Anne’s in the recliner. And Cressida is on the opposite corner of the rug.

Emma snores loudly, and I grin, pulling out my phone so I can record her.

“Shit!” I shout when I look at the screen.

“What?” Anne startles awake, glancing around the living room wildly. Her red hair is just as untamed.

“It’s almost eight,” I reply.

“Oh, shit!” Anne echoes.

“Cressida! Emma! Wake up!” I holler, running into the kitchen to start brewing coffee.

Emma sits up, yawning widely. “What?”

“We’ve got practice in twenty minutes!” I call back. “And I have the worst headache. I’m not drinking tequila ever again!”

Cressida strolls into the kitchen, stretching. “We weren’t exactly pouring it down your throat. And apparently, it’s some sort of truth serum. I found out more about your life last night than I have since we met.”

I dump the grounds into the coffee maker and dart toward the stairs. I whirl around my room like a hurricane, swapping out the pajamas I’m wearing for leggings and my practice jersey. My hair goes up in a messy ponytail, and then I sprint across the hall to brush my teeth and wash my face.

Slams and bangs suggest my housemates are all getting ready just as quickly.

I sprint down the stairs, cleats in one hand and sneakers in the other. “EMMA! ANNE!” I holler. “We’ve got to go!”

“I’m coming!” Emma shouts back.