a bed that

like cloud-level soft-and the sheets s

ologne, money, and a

with the water stain shaped like New Jersey (I have money for clothes, not for leaky r

turn

h

y

o

y off his very naked body, the morning sun slashing across his

rp jaw, dark lashes, slightly parted lips. I think there might be a l

en it

. I slept

ry, had hot, toe-curling, mind

rly s

er going to

hot, British, champagne-offering stranger. And

clockwork, to wake the hell up. As if my anxiet

is a mess, my dress is on the floor, a

h for my bra. It's nowhere to be seen. I find my heels by the window, my purse

ea

f course, I'm busty, so now it's a whole problem. My boobs are jiggling with every tip-toe to

in my

yes

aking, silent giggles. He's too hot to be real,

t. But also... I need proof. No

the perfect sleepy-man photo, just to show Emily and Callie that I wasn't halluc

ree

les something in his sle

doesn't

facing the other sid

e a freight train, loud and annoying and not even t

d make a run for it before my o

gover, and internally screaming. Like, brunch is halfw

glittery romper and shoer leather boots. Her oversized sungla

urtain, old Converse, and a paint-smudged bun that makes her look like she's

ougie ones I only wear to trick people into thinking I'm emotionally stable)

st. "Oh my God, Sle

taking bets on if you d

mosa like it's my last lifeline

fingers at me. "Babe, that's post-sex skin. You

an eyebrow.

r glass like a Bond villain. "Which means she wasn't cry

Can I mour

hen your mourning incl

on my water. "I

. "Is that what we'

something," Callie adds. "Her di

. "You guys are

ait. Did you actua

ce in my han

ams. People

he adm

ks. "We ne

you d

believe you."

re," I say, hol

Pictures or it

showing

dick, Charlotte.

, the only evidence of my wild night, well,

phone acros

p. Stares. Her b

. "Wait...

esn't

there. M

I both lean

up at me like she ca

.. that's A