He Will Never Choose You!

The Aftermath

A beam of sunlight annoyingly pierced through my closed eyelids, and I could feel my pulse throbbing in every part of my still-intoxicated brain.

The fuck happened?

Swearing speaks of creativity and intelligence. Nothing better than a pep talk while still being half-unconscious.

THE FUCK HAPPENED?

With my eyes shut, I tried to piece together the events of last night.

Okay, pull yourself together! Breathe through the headache. One of my nostrils was blocked, emitting this weird whistling sound.

Here's what I've figured out so far: End of the school year, summer break, party at James's house, and vodka. Lots of fucking vodka. I tried sniffing to clear my clogged nostril, but it only lodged further down my throat.

"Fuck! Water, anyone?" I croaked, or rather coughed, my mouth as dry as a goddamn desert.

"Well, "fuck" sounds about right!"

I sensed a slight movement next to me, and the person I unknowingly asked for water tugged at the blanket that covered my vodka-contaminated and numb body.

No, no, please no! My mind spun in circles as I desperately tried to recall whose husky voice was currently talking to me. Maybe someone really fucking lucky?

Slowly, I raised my arm to shield my eyes with the palm of my hand, gradually opening them to meet two deep, dark eyes hovering above my face before I could fully cover them. I hoped my morning breath didn't smell too bad, maybe like spring, or even roses... fingers crossed!

"Thank God it's you. What the hell happened to your voice? You sound like a whiskey-loving, cigarette-smoking, misery-hugging soul trapped in a 60-year-old body." I locked eyes with the face grinning down at me, showcasing two rows of pearly white teeth along with those almost pitch-black eyes.

"Look who's talking. You actually reek of whiskey and cigarettes and look like you've endured 60 years of pure fucking misery, Vi. Go take a shower! Did the snot taste good? There's water on the nightstand beside you." James winked and flopped back onto the mattress, groaning and rubbing his forehead.

Summoning every ounce of willpower within me, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and reached for the water. As I surveyed the expanse of the massive room where James and I had ended up after a hazy night of vodka-fueled chaos, the coolness of the water cascading down my parched throat felt like a long-awaited rain after an endless drought.

"You might wanna consider wrapping something around that gorgeous body of yours, 'cause from where I'm sitting, all I see is a bare back, a string that's doing nothing to cover your butt crack, and don't even get me started on the side boob action you're flaunting. And while I thoroughly enjoy the view, I must remind you that I am, in fact, a gentleman."

I knew that smug expression all too well. After years of closely observing his every emotion, I considered myself an expert in deciphering James's smirks and grins. From the audible chuckle I heard behind me, I was pretty damn certain he had just given himself a mental pat on the back for the clever remark aimed at my exposed backside.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of all that alcohol coursing through my veins, but in that moment, I felt a surge of defiance. I rose to my feet, turned around to face him-my boobs still unabashedly on display for the world to see-and defiantly snatched the blanket, swiftly wrapping myself up like a sizzling hot pocket. Scratch that, more like a blazing inferno of heat, courtesy of the vodka coursing through my system. Still, I felt pretty badass, I must say.

His smug expression momentarily froze, and he seemed to avert his gaze for a split second, although his eyes were quickly drawn back to my now-covered body. As an expert in decoding James's reactions, this little act of averting his eyes was a new development.