Page 30 of The Bad Girl List

“Don’t remind me.” Embarrassment makes me yank the covers back over my head. Thinking of how I had thrown myself at Trevor in a drunken fit of horniness–in a parking lot, no less–is only made worse by remembering my spectacular puke display in the vineyards.

My skin prickles with humiliation. I’d been so mortified by the combination of events that I hadn’t even been able to look at Trevor on the way home.

Had I really unbuttoned his jeans and shoved my hands down his boxers? Yes, yes I had. I can still remember what he felt like in my hand. The memory does all sorts of things to my body so I push it firmly out of my mind. I had no idea male body parts could be that nice.

I had behaved like a character out of a bad romance novel. Thank God I don’t know anyone around here. I’m going to chalk up the situation to excessive Cosmos and leave it behind for good. It’s not like I’ll ever see Trevor again.

Annika pulls back the blanket and looks at me. “I love you, cousin. Our vacation is off to a great start. Now get your ass up and come eat breakfast.”

Somehow, I manage to get out of bed and take down the Tylenol on the nightstand. It feels like the feat of an Olympian athlete.

Our room looks like our suitcases exploded. To be exact, it looks like Annika’s suitcase exploded. In less than a day, she’s managed to make our room almost as messy as her apartment. She has clothes in different piles all over the room, some on the floor, some on top of the dresser, and some hanging halfway out of her open suitcase. How can she look so fabulously put together all the time, yet live in such chaos? It’s never made sense to me.

I’m still in Trevor’s shirt. Thanks to his amazing hands, half the buttons are gone. Ignoring how good it smells, I fold it up and leave it on the bed. I guess I don’t have to worry about returning it to him. It might even be worth putting up with Annika’s teasing to use it as a pillow.

“Walk of shame,” I mutter, rummaging through the dresser where I had organized all my clothes. “Definitely a walk of shame, Dom.”

I probably should put on something cute, like a sundress or something. That’s what people do when they go wine tasting.

But that would require too much coordination for the way I’m feeling right now. And since my favorite pair of cargo pants is soaked in wine and sitting in the back of a Tesla, I opt for my second favorite pair of cargo pants.

They’re a deep olive green. I pair it with a plain black crop top, slip my feet into my sneakers, twist my hair into its customary twin buns, and call it good. Annika will probably give me crap for not making an effort, but screw it. I should get a medal for being vertical.

Out in the kitchen, the rest of my family is already up. The kitchen is the same era as the front of the house. It feels like we’ve stepped into a time warp.

Battered oak cabinets line a galley kitchen. The countertops are covered in chipped tile. The walls are a cheerful yellow, and bright red curtains with embroidered yellow flowers hang on either side of the window. The plates on the table are a red and yellow pattern that match the kitchen.

To most people, this place might look like it needs a remodel. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I love the character.

The tips of my fingers start to tingle. I want to draw the light coming in through the kitchen window as it lands on the steaming frying pan. I want to draw my mother standing beside the stove, spatula in hand as she works the eggs.

Despite the fact that I have gnomes beating at my head with pick axes, a smile spreads across my face. Seeing my family gathered in the kitchen brings a warm feeling to my chest.

“Good morning,” Mom says brightly, depositing a mountain of scrambled eggs onto a large platter in the middle of the table.

“Good morning,” Auntie Helen and Auntie Dee echo.

I hope my chipper smile hides my hangover. “Morning.”

I give my mom a quick hug and join my family at the table, grabbing the cup of coffee waiting by my plate. Besides the sausage and eggs, there’s also fresh orange juice.

“Annika tells me you girls met some nice locals last night,” Auntie Dee says.

I manage not to choke on my eggs. “Yeah, it was fun,” I reply, keeping it vague.

“How’s Oliver?” Mom asks, helping herself to a few pieces of sausage.

Annika shoots me a quick look from behind her orange glass. I plaster on my best fake smile and say, “He’s great, Mom. He got a promotion.”

Both things are true. The promotion happened just a few days before he broke up with me. And how could he not be great with his new girlfriend?

“He got a promotion?” Auntie Helen exclaims.

“You should have said something,” Mom chides. “We’ll have to celebrate after we get back from vacation. How is work going?”

And here it is: the two things my family is most proud of. My boyfriend, and my job. That took less than sixty seconds.

“Last week I worked on new label concepts for a winery,” I say. Also technically true.

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