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TWENTY-FIVE
vodka and favors
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"WHAT'S THE EMERGENCY?" Giselle sounded out of breath. "I got here as fast as I could. My dad was not happy. Apparently we were supposed to fly back home quickly for a wake keeping. But I know a 911 text is important. God, I hate the huge flight of steps in your house, really it's..." Giselle trailed off once she saw my face.
I lifted the corner of my lip in a crooked attempt at a smile. "What? You don't have more to say?"
"It's just... are you okay?" she asked warily, eyeing the half empty bottle of Grey Goose in my hand. "It's like, three in the afternoon."
I had sloppy drunk written all over my bare face in huge bold marker letters. Was I to blame though?
My favorite hookup had used me for fame points, which subsequently left me high and dry for the time being. A girl had needs, and Dean had simultaneously fulfilled them while maintaining a slightly more than friendly relationship that wasn't serious.
That was basically all I wanted from life, the epitome of Hot Girl Summer. It was safe to say, unfortunately, that it had come to a brief pause.
Dean had also left my phone constantly buzzing with inquiries of why I blew him off on our breakfast date. I snorted as I hit the moon icon on my phone, banishing his texts to radio silence that I had no intention of ever turning the volume up on.
Tristan, Zeke and Isaiah all left for a guys night out-which I didn't really blame them for. My mother and dad left an elusive note scribbled in Zara's signature neat handwriting, detailing their whereabouts. I threw it in the trash, flung open the pristine white cupboards, and went to town like it was my first highschool party.
"Is it obvious?" I deadpanned, drawing from the bottle heavily. "The 911 text was clearly a hoax. Plus, it's five o' clock somewhere, right?"
"Okay, so you're not okay." Giselle moved to sit down next to me, the oversized T-shirt not going unnoticed by me.
She was as fashion forward as they came, maybe not on the same stratosphere as Rosie, but still well-versed nonetheless. So for her to be clad in an unflattering huge T-shirt in the middle of the day was a dead ringer for her newfound insecurity.
I needed to address that, but maybe after I could walk straight.
Her hand darted out quickly to snatch the bottle from me, but I was quicker.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I moved the vodka from her reach. "Nice try. I'm fine, really. Except for the fact that Dean is a slimy ass liar and the next time I see him I'm going to take a Louboutin stiletto to his face."
