Page 35 of One Week Wingman

Roxy fumbles with her keys, but she manages to get the back door open. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and then maneuver her up the stairs. “Shhhh,” she tells me.

“You shush,” I whisper. “I’m being perfectly covert.”

Finally, I get her into the bedroom. She collapses back onto the bed with a breathy sigh. “Comfy.”

“Uh huh.” I take off her shoes, even as she playfully kicks at me. “It’s a good thing you’re a cute drunk,” I inform her, finally getting them off.

She sits up. “You think I’m cute?”

She’s staring straight at me again, her dark eyes wide and clear, full mouth soft, lips parted.

Not just cute, beautiful.

I’m seized by the sudden, inexplicable urge to brush my thumb over her bottom lip. I want to suck it into my mouth, hold it gently between my teeth, get her to make that breathy sigh again—for very different reasons...

What the hell, Seb?

I recoil. What am I thinking? Making a move like that would fuck everything up. Roxy is my friend. And drunk. And both of those things make her seriously off-limits.

She suddenly looks panicked, and I wonder if she can tell what I’m thinking. Fuck.

But then she lets out a strangled groan, leans over—

And vomits all over my shoes.

9

ROXY

Oh my god,my head…

And my mouth. And my neck? Everything is aching. I wake in a haze of hungover pain, my mouth as dry as dust.Water. I drag myself up, ready to go stumble to the bathroom, but find there’s no need: A glass of water and a bottle of aspirin are waiting on my nightstand, along with a note.

I pick it up, hold it a few inches in front of my face, and squint until it comes into focus:

Hydrate. You snore like a warthog when you’re drunk.

Oh God.

I sink back with a groan. What the hell happened last night? I have vague memories of the bar… Somehow singing in front of everyone, and then beer. Lots of beer.

I groan again, rubbing my face. For some reason, there’s dirt under my nails and twigs in my hair…

The treehouse!

I took Seb up to our old treehouse. Or rather, I drunkenly climbed up, and he had no choice but to follow me. I slide back down under the comforter, mortified. Maybe if I sleep longer, I’ll feel better and it’ll all come back to me. Or maybe I’ll die from this hangover.

Either one works for me.

“Roxy!” My mom knocks on the door and I reach up to grip my throbbing temples. “What?” I whimper feebly.

“Get cracking, we’re leaving in ten minutes!” The door opens and Mom pokes her head inside, beaming. “Apple picking. Daisy’s idea.”

Of course it was.

“Hop in the shower and then we’ll go. You look like you could do with the fresh air,” she adds with a knowing smirk. “I hear you had a fun night.”

I whimper again. She laughs. “Ten minutes!”

---