It must have been close to two A.M. and her hands were on my arms, my hands still on her waist, and we stood so close together that I could see right into her eyes even there in the darkness. She was watching me closely, intently, even as she smiled, and when she bit her lip and her eyes flickered down to my own I could have sworn my heart simply ceased to beat. I wanted to kiss her. I knew that I wanted to kiss her. And she—I knew that she wanted to kiss me, too. All I had to do was move my head forward, let my own eyes shut, and God I was so drunk and my whole body so alive that I know full well I could have done it.

But just as her head began to cock to the side and lean in, I was yanked away. Stumbling backward I grasped onto Julia a little tighter, snapping myself back to reality. I turned around to face a breathless Molly, frowning at me with her hands on her hips. “Jesus, Alex. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Um—Right here?”

She ignored me, grabbing my hand and dragging me from the room. Julia trailed a few steps behind us but Molly stopped her. “I need to borrow Alex for a few minutes.”

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” She shot her a look that basically told her to piss off, and she shrugged before she walked back into the kitchen.

I raised an eyebrow as she stomped up the stairs to the second floor, her tight grip on my wrist almost cutting into my skin. “Jesus, Molly. What’s your deal?”

“My deal,” she hissed, quietly enough that nobody else lingering on the landing could hear, “Is that your fucking girlfriend is after drinking herself into a coma.”

My jaw dropped, and I was aware of my nose twitching. “I don’t—what—who?”

Molly rolled her eyes, coming to a stop outside of the main bathroom. “Connie, obviously.” She pulled me in quickly and I realized instantly why she had been in such a mood—the scene in the bathroom was horrifying. Connie sat slumped against the toilet, her normally pristine hair a nest on her head, and I could see that her makeup was a mess. Her eyeliner and mascara had formed enormous black circles around her eyes and her red lipstick was smudged all around her mouth. Orla was sitting on the edge of the bathtub delicately petting Connie’s hair, and I could tell from her own drooping eyelids that she couldn’t have been feeling much better. The room stank of vomit and alcohol and alcoholic vomit, and my whole face wrinkled in disgust. That girl on the floor could hardly be the same girl who told me before that anyone who vomits after drinking is a pussy.

“Christ, O’Reilly,” Molly muttered under her breath, shutting the door.

“What the hell happened?”

“Got sick,” Orla mumbled. I shot Molly a look.