“Five minutes,” Allie promises.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re ready.
Stepping into a cab, we find ourselves heading for the trendiest club in town. I’m not a club kind of girl. Never have been, never will be. But tonight, I’m willing to give it a try.
I assess the overcrowded nightclub in front of me. You can practically feel the bass vibrating from outside. Girls wearing short dresses parade in and out of the building, and I look down at my outfit. Allie and Kass got me all dressed up, but I’m wearing a big-ass coat and a scarf on top of my outfit. I don’t care that we’re clubbing. I’m not catching pneumonia tonight.
I hear the guys discuss the legal drinking age being nineteen here instead of twenty-one.
They’re thinking numbers.
I am, too.
The final number is fourteen.
Fourteen chances to forget him.
18
Drunk Call
With deafening music busting my ears, I slam the empty shot glass on the counter and sink my teeth into the lemon wedge with a gag. I’m not a hundred percent sure how many shots is too much. But I do know I passed my limit a long time ago.
“That was awful.” I quiver in disgust while Alex, Kendrick, and Will cheer me on. Gathered around the bar, we stare at the countless tequila shots displayed in a line.
“What number was that?” It’s got to be over ten, at least.
“Six,” Will says, and I grimace. We’ve been at the club for a few hours now, and although the guys were nice enough to space out the shots, they weren’t kidding about me drinking the memory of Haze away.
“Okay, enough! She’s not actually drinking fourteen—she’ll throw up for hours,” Kass slurs and splits the eight shots amongst the guys. Allie, Kass, and I are already gone, thanks to our embarrassingly low tolerance, but the guys could keep going all night, and I don’t doubt for a second that they will if given the chance.
“I got to take a leak,” Kendrick says.
“Me too.” Allie gets off her stool.
“I’ll come with.” Kass follows.
As soon as they squeeze their way through the crowd, Alex’s phone rings. A smile spreads on his face at the caller ID.
“Who’s that? Your girl?” I tease. I find Morgan and Alex to be a surprisingly perfect match. I absolutely loved Morgan during the time I spent in Florida. I’m glad they found each other.
He nods, his smile widening. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks off, leaving me alone with Will for once in a blue moon. I’ve been dying to talk to him since he got here. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean his and Kass’s should be, too.
I remember how Will’s hands rolled into fists when some guy showed up at the bar and shamelessly hit on Kass earlier, the way he stared down the bottom of his beer bottle as though he was trying to drown in it. There’s still something there.
And it’s worth fighting for.
“Okay. What the hell happened with Kass?” I swap stools to sit next to him.
He scoffs. “Straightforward when we’re drunk, aren’t we?”
“I’m serious. Either you found out you’re gay or you’re really, really stupid, because you blew it, Will. Bad. You told me you loved her in your car that day and then—”
“Winter, can we not do this now?” he hisses and downs his tequila shot in seconds.
“Is it because of Kendrick?” I insist. “Because you’re scared of what he’ll say? He already found out, and you’re obviously still friends. Who cares at this point?” Apparently, six tequila shots make me persistent—more like annoying, but whatever.