He turned to me and actually jumped a little. “Holy shit, Jess.” His voice was strained.

“What?” I undid the snap on my shorts and started to take the zipper down.

“Slow down.”

“No.” I wanted to feel his skin on mine.

But Riley pulled me down onto the bed with him before I could finish taking off my shorts and he kissed me deeply, with tongue, so that I groaned, hips arching to meet his erection.

“Not tonight, honey,” he told me, breathing hard, his eyes agonized.

I froze in the act of humping his crotch, astride his body, my breasts scraping along his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re not having sex tonight. I don’t want our first time together to be when you’re shitfaced.”

It was like a slap. Hot humiliation rushed into my mouth, a thick bile, and I sucked in a few deep breathes, suddenly feeling like I was going to be sick. “I’m not shitfaced,” I protested. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

But he still shook his head. “I don’t want it like this.”

He didn’t want me. That’s what I heard. I rolled off of him and curled up against the edge of the bed, feeling as rejected as I had when I had been cut from the cheerleading squad in seventh grade for fucking up a back handspring.

“I want you to remember it,” he said.

“What I’m going to remember is that you’re a prick,” I said venomously.

“Don’t be irrational.” He touched my back and I swatted at him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Fine.”

“Whatever.” I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry. No tears. Jessica Sweet didn’t cry. It was the golden rule.

My body was aching with the need for an orgasm and my stomach was roiling from the alcohol. I tried to breathe quickly in and out of my nose, nausea climbing. The damn waterbed was moving, further contributing to the bed spins from all the booze. It was like being on the deck of a ship. For a second I thought I was going to be okay, but then Riley rolled over and the whole bed undulated. I grabbed the lip of the frame and felt my stomach heave in protest.

Game over. I sat up and fumbled my way out of bed and along the wall.

“Where are you going?”

I didn’t bother to say anything, just clawed at the door until I yanked it open and dashed into the bathroom, topless, my shorts unzipped. I flicked on the light, blinding myself, and barely had time to flip up the lid on the toilet before I threw up, the stench of peanut butter and chocolate making me cough and choke as vodka and Reese’s and bile expelled from my stomach.

Riley appeared behind me and I waved him off, not wanting him to see me like this. After the heaving stopped, I still clung to the toilet, on my knees, drool dangling from my mouth.

He lifted my heavy hair off my face and smoothed it over my back. “You okay?”

I nodded. As good as anyone can be horking topless in front of her boyfriend who won’t have sex with her. Sinking backward, I shifted my legs and sat on my ass, leaning against the wall, wiping my mouth with my arm. My eyes were watering, and I noticed how badly torn up my knee actually was from falling. There was dried blood dripping down my leg.

The faucet turned on and suddenly Riley’s hand was in my face, and he was gently wiping my mouth, eyes, cheeks with a towel. Then he dried me off and shifted to my knee, dabbing at the dirt and blood. When he put a T-shirt over my head and dressed me like a doll, carefully pushing my arms through the holes, I wasn’t any help to him, but I didn’t resist either.

I waited for the recriminations, the judgment over taking that last shot.

But he didn’t tell me I was stupid.

That was the voice in my own head, not his.

“Are you going to throw up again?” he asked, squatting in front of me, knuckles gently drifting down my cheek.

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me help you back to bed then.”

“I can’t sleep on that waterbed. It’s moving.” Just the memory of it made me gag a little.

“Okay, you can sleep on the couch. Come on.” He lifted me under my armpits and dragged me to my feet.

With his help I stumbled to the couch and collapsed, pulling one of the new pillows under my head and sighing. I closed my eyes, but that made the spinning start again, so I kept them resolutely open as Riley draped a blanket over me. It was too hot for the blanket, but I left it, appreciating his care.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

In the dark room, he leaned over and gave me a half smile. “Vodka happens. No big deal.”

That wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to tell him that I was sorry for being me. I shook my head. “No. For everything.” For not being good enough for him, because I knew that I wasn’t. I was a liar and afraid to stand up to my parents, passive in my life, and far too willing to put out instead of make emotional connections with people.

My last name shouldn’t be Sweet, it should be Sour. Jessica Sour. That was me.

A big tart, mouth puckering, acidic mess.

That was my last drunken thought before I drifted off to sleep, Riley still petting my hair.

* * *

I woke up out of a restless sleep burning hot, mouth dry. I jerked when I realized that Easton was sitting on the coffee table watching me. “Hey,” I mumbled, my throat sore. I checked under the blanket to make sure I was wearing clothes, because I had a memory of being topless while puking.

But I was wearing a soft T-shirt, so I kicked the blanket off with my feet, boiling hot, hair damp with sweat.

“Hey,” he said. “If you give me ten bucks, I’ll go the store and get you Red Bull. That’s the best thing for a hangover, my mom always said that.”

Wonderful. I was sending him back into memories of his hard-partying mother. “That’s nice of you, but I’m okay.” I also thought Red Bull was probably a poor choice for dehydration, but what did I know? There hadn’t been a lot of nights where I had hit it like I had the night before.

His leg bounced. “Are you sure?”

Suddenly suspicious, I swallowed hard and studied him, picking at my left eye, which seemed gummed shut with mascara. “Do you want to go to the store?” I asked carefully.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you conning Jessica?” Riley said, coming into the room in basketball shorts, no shirt. “Beat it, punk.”

Easton sent me one last meaningful look that I didn’t understand and ran past his brother, darting out of the way as Riley tried to rub the top of his head.

“Why does he want to go to the store?” I asked, trying to pull myself to a sitting position with a sigh.

“He takes a cut of the money and buys himself candy. Plus I think the dude at the 7-Eleven lets him look at the latest issue of Playboy.”

“Oh. At least he’s enterprising.”

Riley laughed. “I guess you could call it that. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

Jayden came into the room. “Oh my God!” he exclaimed when he saw me. “What happened to you? You look like butthole!”

Perfect. Even Jayden recognized a hot mess when he saw one.

“U!” Riley frowned at him. “That’s a pretty goddamn rude thing to say to a chick.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jayden looked at me, his apology looking and sounding sincere. But then he added equally truthfully, “But you do look terrible.”

I couldn’t help it. I had to laugh. “I’m sure I do. This is why vodka has a warning label.”

Jayden either didn’t get it or didn’t care. He lost interest in me and turned to Riley. “It’s hot as balls today. Can we go swimming?”

Riley looked like he would rather have his nails torn out, but he nodded. “Give me at least an hour though. And no harassing me about it in the meantime. You drive me crazy when you follow me around sighing.”

“Okay!” Jayden moved off down the hall singing a Lady Gaga song at the top of his lungs.

Riley shook his head. “God, what song is that? It’s a good thing I love them. Because otherwise I might drive them out into the country and leave them in a cornfield.”

“You would not.” My head was throbbing, but I knew he was full of shit. He would do anything for them. He already had.

“Nah. I wouldn’t.” Riley moved into the kitchen. “I have coffee for you,” he called out as he disappeared from view. “I iced it.”

When he brought me a cup of chilled coffee and a yogurt I made a face. “Drink it. Eat it. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

I took a tentative sip. It was cold and wet and all that was wonderful. “Thanks. Where’s my purse? I want to see if Robin got home okay.” I should have texted her from the townie bar and made sure she had a ride. But I was too fucked-up to think about it.

“You threw this on the floor when we got back.” Riley bent over by the front door and handed my wristlet to me.

Unzipping it, I took another coffee sip and checked my phone. No relevant texts. I tapped out a message to Robin and closed my eyes again briefly. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“What was that all about?” he asked, sitting on the coffee table where Easton had been earlier, resting his elbows on his legs.

“I got drunk.”

“No, I mean, what was that all about, later? Were you really upset with me for wanting to wait?”

I wanted to lie and shrug it off. But it did bother me. A lot. “I felt—no, I feel—rejected.”

“Why would that make you feel rejected?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Because you don’t want me.” If I hadn’t been feeling like ass, and obviously according to Jayden, looking like it, too, I never would have said it. But I was pretty much so low I was crawling on the dirty ground of the townie bar, so what difference did it make? It wasn’t like I had an ounce of dignity left.