❝As long as you are under the same stars as mine, I'll be okay.❞
Autumn Beck, a sarcastic italian journalism major studying at NYU.
Tatum never commits. Not to a place, a home, and especially not to boys. From her famous absent father and NFL star b...
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Dios Mios, I am literally going to die.
All alone.
No friends.
In a stranger's bed.
Wait, this is not my bed. Oh no in cosa mi sono cacciato?
I feel around for my phone and instantly cringe when the brightness is turned up all the way.
8:03 am.
I drop my head back on my pillow, what the hell happened last night? All I remember is—merda.
Getting wasted at a Party. Having a quickie in the bathroom. Italia and Baylor leaving with some guys. Chanelle dragging me out. Winning at Beer Pong.
Wait, Chanelle? I look around the bedroom I'm in which still has my socks from the last time I got blackout drunk at a party lying on the floor.
Typically I'd make a vow that I'd never go out drinking and getting shitfaced—but we all know I'd be lying.
But hey, at least I beat those Frat boys at beer pong yesterday. The look on their faces was definitely worth the hangover.
I turn my gaze from the ceiling to the dark wood nightstand where Elle has graciously provided me with—are you kidding me?—one pill of Advil! I'm going to need at least five considering the frat fuckers weren't as bad as I made them out to be.
Screw Chanelle and her responsible self.
I need coffee if I'm going to be remotely okay. I wonder if I can Ubereats a cold brew?
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It's officially the best idea I've had in a hot minute. I had to wait by the door to make sure the doorbell didn't wake up Chanelle and Jake.
I finished chugging the last of my 3rd Large Cold brew and let me tell you—this shits amazing but so expensive. I only had a ten on me which the guy with my food didn't mind cause he got a handjob in exchange.
Coglione wouldn't be cazzo quiet.
I open the lid of my 4th and sadly last cold brew and start chugging it. At this point, my hands are shaking and I can barely hold the cup.
This merda is better than drugs, trust me—I would know.
By the time I'm done it's 8:47 and I'm currently in the shower trying to scrub the smell of that kid off of me, who literally smelled like mayo.
I dry myself off with a towel and start through the bag that I previously left here for any clothes. All I have is Cam's, my brothers, oversized New York Jets t-shirt, spandex, and no bra—which isn't a problem because it's only Jake and Chanelle and they have seen way more than they'd like to admit.
