“Do you want to dance?” It slipped out before he could stop himself, before he thought better of it.

She stepped away from him, looking horrified at the idea. “I’m not that drunk. But now I need another drink.” She shot him another incredulous stare, shook her head as if he’d asked the most ridiculous question, then walked away.

Well, he’d tried. A lot of good that did. Damn Eric and his nonsense talk about OTPs or whatever.

Chapter 7

Cherisse

A HAND, FLUNG IN HER face, jolted Cherisse awake, mouth parched, and feeling grimy. Had she even brushed her teeth last night before tumbling into bed? Cherisse carefully removed the hand that she realized belonged to Remi. Remi shifted to her side, so her back was to Cherisse, the blanket pulled up until it almost covered her head, her messy bun the only thing visible.

Something tickled her shoulder, and she nearly screamed as she reached to brush it off and encountered her hair unbound. Dammit, she hadn’t even wrapped her hair last night.

The throb in her temples made her wince. She’d forgotten to drink water before bed—her dry mouth was indication enough—and vaguely remembered shucking her clothes and crawling into the bed. She moved the cover down, and yup, she was in just her underwear. God, she was a mess, and so was her hair probably, since she hadn’t slept with her silk head tie. She squinted around the unfamiliar room. Where the fuck?

Clearly, her brain was still alcohol-soaked. She recalled dancing with Scott and Eric, even a random guy or two from the bar. The latter half of the night was sort of fuzzy, and there had been one guy she’d been laughing up a storm with as he twirled her around, but that had been the extent of it. Dancing with a bunch of people, except Keiran. She remembered the small look of hurt when she’d shot down his offer. But she must have imagined it. Keiran didn’t even like her. She’d just made him buy drinks for them all last night, so he couldn’t have been serious.

Cherisse nudged Remi. She mumbled something unintelligible and didn’t move. Cherisse felt like shit. She pressed her hand to her aching head, trying to will the pain away. She looked around—taking in the bedroom—when it clicked. Her parents’ house. The guest room. There’d been a reason for them crashing here instead of going home, but damned if her hurting head would let her remember why. Ugh, fuck this morning seriously, with its bright ass sunlight seeping in through the not-heavy-enough curtains.

The bedroom door flung open, and Ava hustled in. “Wake up!”

Cherisse flinched as something cold landed on her chest. The fuck? She grabbed at the bottle of water before it rolled down her stomach. “Wha—”