Page 69 of The Very First Night

“I do not reek!”

“Oh, you definitely reek. You smell like you’ve been bathing in the barrel.”

“Asshole,” I giggle as I push his shoulder. He grins from ear to ear as my eyes meet his. “I understand. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he repeats. “But in the meantime, go to bed. I’ll grab you some water…and a bucket.”

“I don’t need a bu?—”

“Katarina. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink where you didn’t throw up at least once the next morning.”

Ugh, I hate it when he’s right. I fight back the urge to argue more, to tell him I have both water in my mini fridge and a trash can in my room, and instead say the only reasonable thing left to say.

“Thank you.”

THIRTY-TWO

KAT

To say I have been riddled with anxiety today is an understatement. I can’t believe I said what I said to Tanner last night.

Not to say I regret it—actually, the more I think about it, the more I start to believe in the concept of “drunken words are sober thoughts.” The liquid courage from the alcohol seemed to have unleashed all of my pent-up thoughts and feelings toward Tanner, but now that I’m sober, I can’t help but feel embarrassed by my outburst.

I wouldn’t be surprised if he tells me today that he’s changed his mind and that he didn’t actually intend for it to go as far as I suggested. Who hasn’t known a guy to say something stupid, then later realize he didn’t mean it? I can name quite a few.

Upon returning to the house after classes, I let my backpack fall against the hardwood floor of the entryway, the scent of rich tomato sauce with garlic hitting me instantly. Kicking off my white sneakers, I make my way to the kitchen.

Jenna’s vibrant red apron is splattered with a creamy white sauce and flecked with splashes of rich tomato puree as she skillfully extracts a gigantic dish from the oven. The smell of melted cheese and pungent herbs wafts through the kitchen. The lasagna is large and enticing enough to feed a small army.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask with a laugh, leaning against the counter.

“Why do I need an occasion to cook?” she counters without looking at me, sifting through drawers, clearly searching for something.

“Because you hardly ever cook when you’re not stressed.”

She shrugs as she finds a large chef’s knife sheathed in a plastic guard. “Long day of classes. I figured we might like a nice dinner all together.”

I can’t tell if she’s being wholly truthful. Jenna has never been a forthcoming person when it comes to what is bothering her. At least, not until after the issue subsides. I would pry, but it’s Jenna—I know that would get me nowhere with her.

“Makes sense. How did you feel this morning?” Our night of drinking clearly hit Jenna like a freight train, evidenced by Tanner having to carry her in from the car.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the corner of her mouth quirks upward. “I felt fine. I don’t usually get a hangover. What about you, Miss Pukes-a-Lot?”

That joke wasn’t funny the first time she said it three years ago, and it’s not funny now.

“I’ve been thinking about cutting back on drinking, actually. I swear it’s like the more time passes, the less alcohol I need in my system for my body to decide it needs to expel it immediately,” I mumble. I grab a paper towel and wipe up a rogue dollop of red sauce on the kitchen counter.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Jenna asks, half-joking.

“You and I both know that that would be physically impossible without being glaringly obvious,” I sigh. Jenna knows just as well as I do that I haven’t had sex in over four months, not since that night on spring break, the night before everything changed between me and Elijah.

“What’s not physically possible?” Tanner’s voice carries through the kitchen as he appears with Brendan at his side.

“For Kat to be pregnant.”

He nods as if this information is nothing new. “It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”

“Dude, why would you even know that?” Brendan asks, clearly perplexed at the idea that Tanner would have any insider knowledge about my sex life—or lack thereof.

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