Ambrose actually looks somewhat embarrassed. His cheeks flush a light pink before he starts to move away from me. “Come on, let’s go get ready for school.”

“Noooooooooo.” I’m stumbling at his side, suddenly freezing, and I really need to wash what I’m assuming are dried-up bits of mascara and liner from my face by the feel of it. Gross.

Ambrose flicks my nose. “Come on, Cinderella, I think the pumpkin exploded on your face.”

I stick out my tongue as he leads me into his bathroom and hands me a new toothbrush. I don’t even ask questions, I just start brushing and brushing and brushing. He does the same, then turns on the shower like we get drunk every night, then go to the same bathroom and get ready.

Doesn’t he have to pee?

Well, I guess with a raging boner, he’d end up decorating the ceiling, so maybe not now.

Moaning comes in from the hall. Quinn appears in the doorway, looking how I feel, his eyes are swollen. “Why is it so bright?”

“It’s called daylight.” Ambrose snickers.

Quinn flips him off. “Give me a toothbrush. It feels like roadkill rotted and died in my mouth, then came back to life only to take three more possums with it, stab them in the chest, and allow them to rot as—fuck, I think I’m still drunk. Did any of that make sense at all?”

I finish brushing my teeth, at least he seems happier this morning. “Only the first part.”

“Shit.” He grabs a new toothbrush from Ambrose, brushes his teeth twice, uses mouth wash then leans against the counter. “Did you guys even finish the movie? Did they capture Jack Sparrow?”

“Never.” Ambrose finishes brushing his teeth as well.

“But the rum was definitely all gone,” I add.

A laugh escapes from Quinn, forcing him to grab his head with his hands and brace himself. “It hurts.”

“Everything hurts.” I agree. “But Ambrose won’t let me skip school.”

“Come on, Mom, let us skip!” Quinn whines.

Ambrose tosses Quinn a clean white towel. “I have lacrosse practice; even though we aren’t in season, we still have to work out, the coach is ruthless, and if I don’t get to school by noon, I can’t play, which means coach will be all up my ass.”

Quinn peels off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor. “What? Like they actually need the captain and starting senior in order to win?”

“These be crazy times.” Ambrose agrees.

I point toward the door. “I’m just gonna go… get ready, and pray that banging my head against the wall will make my headache go away.”

Quinn frowns. “Just hop in the shower real quick. Is it hair wash day? Because I hear that’s a thing.”

“It’s a thing,” Ambrose confirms. “She usually goes about two days before I start smelling her from her room.”

“Ahhh, the curse of the dry shampoo.” Quinn nods, crossing his arms over his lean chest.

I sidestep him. “I can just shower in my bathroom.”