Page 133 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I’m pouring tequila into five shot glasses before I know it, handing out the remaining four to Cal, Shay, Scar, and Brooke.

Scar starts the countdown, but I don’t even wait for him to finish to tip the shot back.

My eyes water as the liquor streams down my throat, and I have this inkling that unless I want to end up with my head in the toilet again, I’m going to have to stop drinking.

Vince pads into the room the second we set the glasses down, holding what seems to be a ticket in his right hand.

“The fuck is that?” Scar asks.

Vince shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “A five-hundred-dollar noise complaint ticket.”

With that, he grabs the remote to the stereo and turns up the volume, as though he didn’t just get fined half a grand two minutes ago. “You motherfuckers want to play beer pong?”

* * *

“For fuck’s sake, Hadley. Are you trying to make me puke?” Jamie says on a chuckle, a hint of disgust crossing her face as she takes the red cup to her mouth to knock it back.

“I told you I wasn’t half bad.” I crack a guilty smile, rinsing the beer pong ball in the cup of water next to me.

I’ve played beer pong a lot since I started college.

Maggie was dating some douche nozzle named Jordan my freshman and junior year, and every party we’d go to, without exception, would end with me kicking some frat guy’s ass at beer pong while Maggie and Jordan made out in a corner.

It was a good way to pass the time, and seeing the dudes’ faces when I beat them amply made up for being the designated third wheel.

Jamie rests the empty cup on the table. “Yeah, but I didn’t think it meant you could compete in the fucking world championship of beer pong!”

She’s exaggerating.

I missed a few shots here and there, and I’m only winning because Jamie is so drunk she throws like she’s standing on a rocking boat. She’s had enough to make a breathalyzer implode on itself.

“Let’s end this so we can get a gallon of water in you.” I take my shot and send the ball flying straight into Jamie’s last cup after a single bounce.

My victory draws a sigh out of her, and just as she’s about to down the beer, I say, “Leave it. You’re only allowed to have water for the rest of the night.” I round the table, gesturing for her to follow me with my chin. “Kitchen.”

Jamie doesn’t protest, shadowing me down the hall.

The rest of the party doesn’t even notice we’re gone, too wrapped up in Scar and Vince arm-wrestling on the air hockey table to pay attention to us.

It’s past 3:00 a.m., and I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since one. If Kane wants to go ahead and fuck Brooke six ways from Sunday, then he’s free to do so. I won’t stand in his way, and I certainly won’t beg for a sliver of his attention.

I get Jamie and myself water bottles before taking a seat around the kitchen table.

Jamie follows suit, taking small sips of her water as she plops down next to me.

“So… it looked like you and Shay were getting quite… comfortable earlier,” I tease, a grin playing on my lips.

The girls and I felt like dancing at some point through the night, and we pushed the game tables aside to create a dance floor. Jamie asked Shay to dance, and she immediately said yes. Because who could refuse the birthday girl?

They were absolutely adorable, whispering in each other’s ears, chuckling and swaying their hips to the music. As for Kane and the guys, they parked their asses on the couch and bickered like they always do.

“I know.” Jamie throws her head back with a groan. “I wish I had an excuse to be alone with her. We haven’t had a second to talk since we made out in her car.”

Ideas flood my mind, and I’m quick to identify the most viable one. “What if we play some sort of drinking game?” It hits me a moment later. “No, what if we play seven minutes in heaven?”

Her first reaction is to laugh in my face. Fair enough.

“Oh, shit, you’re serious?” she realizes when I don’t laugh.

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