My head jerks up. “What?”

She rolls off the bed and stumbles into the hallway, tripping over one of her shoes.

“First door on your right,” I call after her.

The bathroom door slams shut, followed by the sounds of Raegan heaving into the toilet.

Awesome. My head drops onto the mattress.

So much for breaking my dry spell.

Days Left Until School Starts: 29

Raegan

I am dying.

I yank the sheet over my eyes, hissing like a vampire who’s being burned by the sun. I massage small circles on my temples. It feels as if someone’s drilling a hole in my head. I try to swallow but my throat’s too dry and scratchy. My hair is shellacked with sweat, sticking to my face and neck.

This has to be what death feels like.

I stretch my legs under the covers but my foot grazes something furry. I freeze.

I don’t have any pets. What could be furry in my bed?

Tarantulas are furry. If there’s a tarantula in here, I’m lighting the bed on fire.

Turning my head slowly to the side, I peel my eyelids open.

Oh … my … god.

The memories from last night flood my brain.

I’m not dying. I’m hungover. There isn’t an arachnid in the bed. It’s a man’s leg.

Well, not just his leg. The rest of his body is attached to it. There aren’t severed parts in my bed or anything.

Wait. This isn’t my bed.

I peek out from under the covers. Navy comforter. Plain white walls. Mahogany dresser next to the closet. Clothes strewn about the dark laminate floor—specifically, my red lace thong and matching bra.

I lift the sheet up and assess my situation. Yup. I’m naked.

I had sex with Mr. Sexy in a Suit last night. This is his apartment. That leg belongs to him. He could wake up at any moment.

I think I’d prefer the tarantula.

I slither out of the bed and begin snatching pieces of my outfit off the floor. I pull my shirt over my head, slip my panties on, stuff my legs into my jeans, and toss my bra into my purse. Here’s one shoe. Where the hell is the other one?

Fuck it. I can’t stay here for one second longer. I’m out of the apartment so fast, there’s probably a cartoon cloud of dust behind me.

I sprint down the stairs but my bare feet screech to a halt in the parking lot. I don’t have my car. Groaning, I look to the sky as if someone up there is responsible for putting me in this situation.

I dig my phone out of my purse and scroll for Becca’s name.

The piercing screams of her children sound before she answers, out of breath. “Hello?”

“Please tell me you can come pick me up right now.”