“I get that.” I tried it, and it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

But then again, I also have a crazy ex who keeps popping up, adamant on scaring the shit out of me.

I tear the rest of the tissue paper out of the bag to find a box inside. Opening it, I find a mug with my name scrawled across it in pink glitter and a cartoon figure of my face.

“It was an inside thing with Georgia and me,” Grace explains. “Nearly all of our mugs had our names on them.”

I smile, holding up the mug. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

When I was expelled from college, I lost contact with most of my friends. Some of them because they looked down on me for being arrested. Others were too busy, which I understood. I’ve been invited to parties on campus by some of my former sorority sisters, but it seems too weird to go back there. I also don’t want to risk running into Quinton.

Grace stands. “You have the mug. Now, we make the roomie hot chocolate.”

“The roomie hot chocolate?”

“Yep.” She jerks her head toward the kitchen. “Come on. You’re going to love it.”

I follow her into the kitchen, and she opens a cabinet and pulls out a matching mug with her face and name. She sets it on the counter before gathering the ingredients, consisting of milk, hot chocolate, whipped cream vodka, and marshmallow vodka.

“Do you need any help?”

“I got it,” she replies, warming the milk.

We make small talk while she prepares the hot chocolate, pours it into our mugs, and hands one to me.

“Will this get me drunk?” I ask, moving the mug in circles, watching the chocolate swish in the cup.

I’m not a lightweight drinker, but the amount of vodka Grace poured in might have me hugging the porcelain throne if I get too crazy. It was so strange, seeing someone who appears so put together and proper pouring an exuberant amount of vodka in hot chocolate.

“Possibly.” She grins before holding her mug up in a cheers gesture. “To being roommates.”

I smile and bump my mug against hers. “To being roommates.” Taking a sip, I moan. “This is officially my favorite hot chocolate. I’m going to insist they start selling it at the bar.”

“Georgia tried, but Archer and Cohen vetoed the idea, calling it too complicated to make. They also didn’t think it’d be too popular in a sports bar, so we just drink it when we’re here.”

We walk to the living room and plop down on the couch.

“Roommate task number two,” Grace says. “We find a new show to binge.”