No rain, No flowers.

7

After my shower, I stood in the doorway to the living room, towel drying my hair, feeling the dull ache of last night's drinks still lingering like an unwelcome guest. Scarlett and Vincent were curled up on the couch downstairs, laughing softly at whatever movie they had playing. I considered sneaking back upstairs, avoiding the inevitable questions, but the sound of the movie paused abruptly.

"Rose Mary Mendez, don't even think about sneaking off like that!" Scarlett's voice, equal parts mock-scolding and teasing, called out from downstairs.

I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes but unable to hide a smile as I trudged downstairs. Vincent shot me a goofy grin, already in on whatever joke Scarlett was brewing. It was our usual dynamic—Scarlett, the ringleader, Vincent, her loyal sidekick, and me, the unwilling but complicit participant.

"Yes, Mother?" I groaned, flopping onto the loveseat with exaggerated exasperation.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow, sipping her coffee with mock authority. "Do you have any plans today besides wallowing in your hangover and throwing yourself a pity party?"

"I was thinking about rehydrating and maybe eating solid food," I muttered. "And setting a new personal record for time spent dry heaving."

Vincent snorted. "Ah, the noble athlete. Always pushing herself to new limits." He gave me a thumbs-up, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You're so inspiring," Scarlett added, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she fluttered her hands dramatically. "Truly, a role model for the ages."

I groaned again, sinking deeper into the loveseat. "Oh, come on, guys, spare me."

Scarlett waved her hand dismissively. "Nope, no mercy today. You know the rules—hangover means you're officially open to public shaming. Now, spill the tea. What really happened last night?"

Vincent leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, looking way too interested for someone who usually stayed out of these conversations. "Yeah, Rose, let's hear it. Was it as bad as Scarlett's last date? You know, the one where she thought she was meeting Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, and it turned out to be some guy obsessed with pigeons?"

Scarlett gasped, throwing a pillow at him. "I swear, if you bring up Pigeon Guy one more time—"

I smiled, shaking my head. "You two are exhausting."

Vincent grinned wider. "We live to serve."

"Alright, fine, but don't interrupt me with your wild theories, Scarlett," I warned, pointing a finger at her.

She clasped her hands together as if in prayer, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. "Me? Interrupt? Never!"

"Yeah, right." I gave her a skeptical look but continued. "It started with Anthony," I began, rubbing my temples. His intense stare flashed through my mind, and I winced. "I didn't know his name then. I was just serving drinks at the hotel, and I... may have been eye-fucking him the whole time."

Scarlett gasped dramatically, clasping her hands over her mouth. "Rose! Scandalous!"

Vincent raised his eyebrows, looking between us. "Wait, did she just say 'eye-f—'?"

Scarlett slapped his arm. "Focus! This is important intel!"

I sighed. "Anyway, this red-haired woman—his girlfriend, I think—practically humiliated me."

Vincent winced in sympathy. "Ouch. What'd she do, throw a drink in your face?"

"Almost," I muttered. "She was more subtle than that, just made me feel... small, you know?"