Stranger At My Door

4. Body

"Urrggghhhh, my head," Amber groaned from the sofa, pressing a hand to her temples. "I need to brush my teeth. My mouth tastes like the devil's butt."

I couldn't help but laugh. Unlike Amber, I actually felt pretty fresh. Drinking a pint of water as soon as we got home had saved me, while Amber spent half the night throwing up the last of her guts. She looked worse for wear as she stumbled toward the bathroom, a dramatic flair in her movements.

A few minutes later, Amber reappeared, her face freshly washed and flung herself onto the sofa. "So, catch me up on last night! I hardly saw you after those shots," she said, motioning to her face. "Which, might I add, is your fault. Remind me never, ever, to touch Sambuca again!"

"Well," I began coyly, leaning back into the cushions, "not much, really. I guess now I have to keep you away from two things at parties—"

"Shut up! Spill those beans, sista!" she demanded, completely ignoring my remark.

I sighed, but I couldn't keep the smile from tugging at my lips. "Okay, okay... So, Brad kissed me, we swapped numbers, and he said he'd text me, but... nothing yet."

Amber clapped her hands together, squealing before groaning and clutching her head. "Ouch, bad idea." She pouted, then glanced at me with a mischievous grin. "We need snacks. Right now."

I stretched, raising my arms above my head. "Hangover snacks! Yes!"

"Shhh," Amber hissed, closing her eyes, wincing as she massaged her temples. "My brain is about to explode."

The rest of the day passed in a blissful, lazy haze. We binged on Gossip Girl reruns, ploughed through a stack of Pringles, chocolate, and even managed to devour an entire Camembert with garlic bread. At some point, The Notebook played in the background, though neither of us paid much attention until the credits rolled, and Amber sniffled, her eyes teary as usual.

But even as I laughed at Amber's dramatic commentary, my mind kept wandering back to last night. There was this odd tension, like a thread I couldn't quite grasp. Why hadn't Brad texted yet? We hadn't known each other for long, but the kiss we shared had left me thinking, imagining what could have happened next. But now... now, there was just silence.

Something wasn't sitting right.

"He still hasn't texted," I muttered, scrolling through my phone. I wasn't even sure why I kept checking—it wasn't like we had some deep connection, but it bothered me. Everything about last night felt... off.

Amber blew her nose and waved her tissue dismissively. "He's probably just super hungover, like me."

"I don't know, maybe I should just text him?" I bit my lip, second-guessing myself, though a part of me wasn't sure why I was so focused on it. My heart seemed heavier than it should have been. Why do I even care this much? We barely knew each other.

Amber's eyes widened in horror. "No, don't you dare! You know how it goes—guys always do that thing where they make you wait a few days to keep you interested."

I slumped back on the sofa. "I didn't even get his number. I gave him mine, but now I'm stuck waiting... Ugh."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "Classic move. He'll text, trust me. He's just playing the long game." She sauntered into the kitchen and came back with a box of chocolate fudge cake. She didn't even bother with plates—we ate straight from the box.

The TV droned on, but my attention drifted, my stomach tightening. Why did I feel like something was wrong? I tried to focus on the episode, but flashes of last night kept creeping back in Brad, the noise of the party, that weird tension in the air. Was I the last person to speak to him? Could I have missed something important?