Finn looked positively delighted to see me, and he held out his arms for a hug. “Darcy!”

I came closer to him, crossing my arms uncertainly. We’d never hugged before. But he kept his arms out, so I cracked and gave him a quick embrace. “How’s your night?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s great. It’s awesome, you?” Before I could reply, he went on, pulling back from me but keeping his hands firmly on my shoulders. “I’ve met great people, everyone here is great. My friends are all here! Well, not all of them. But Hunter and Luke are here! Isn’t that great?”

“So great,” I agreed, equal amounts amused and confused. “How come Brougham’s not here?”

Finn waved a hand, then looked at it for a long moment, and waved it again while he narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the limb. “He has a swim meet in the morning. Besides, he doesn’t drink.”

“His body’s a temple,” I said wryly. I didn’t know why I was being mean about Brougham. He was all right, really. We hadn’t talked at all since Disneyland, but we’d ended our business relationship on okay terms. And he had kept my secret for me. I was just mad at the world after reading about what Ray had done to Brooke, I guess.

Finn shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s—what is wrong with my hand?”

He held it out between us, wide-eyed. It seemed standard, as far as hands went. “I don’t know, what’s up?”

Finn shoved it in his back pocket, then sat down hard on the sofa, pinning his hand under his body weight. “Oh,” he said vaguely.

“Finn?” I asked, uncertain. How much had he drunk? “You okay?”

“I did a thing.”

“What did you do?”

He shifted to release his trapped hand, then slowly tipped backward on the sofa until he and the sofa had all but become one. “I had some gummies.”

It took me a second. “Wait, like weed gummies?”

His eyebrows drew together, and he adjusted his glasses while he focused in on something in the distance. We sat in an endless pause. Then he blinked slowly and sighed. “Pardon?”

“… I asked if you ate weed gummies.”

“Oh. Yes. I did that.”

Uh-oh. I had approximately zero experience with this kind of situation. I was only recently getting used to how to support drunk people, and it involved way too much vomit for my liking. Was Finn going to vomit? Should I get him to the bathroom?

“What?” Finn asked sharply.

“I didn’t say anything.

“Oh.” He looked relieved. “I thought you said ‘chicken nuggets.’ I was like, what?”

Why—but—what?