I turn around then and cross the room. When I get to the door, I reach around to the back where the knob is and click the lock into place.

“Why are you doing that?” Riley asks me.

I peer over my shoulder and hold her eyes.

“`Cause locking it is the only way you’re keeping me out of this room.”

I KNOCK TWO Advil out of the bottle and drop them into my hand, then I pop the tablets in my mouth, exchange the bottle of pills for the cold water sitting in my cup holder, twist off the cap to that bottle, and start guzzling.

I’m dehydrated. I know I am, on account of all the vomiting I did yesterday. And even though I’d rather be drinking something with taste right now, I know water is the best thing for me.

There's a chance I'm also still hungover. That I’m not positive on, but my thoughts definitely feel half drunk.

You know when you have a dream and you go to tell someone about it, and the second you open your mouth, the details seem to scatter out through your ears and you’re left with one or two things to share that don’t seem to make much sense?

That’s me today. It was me yesterday too.

Grasping for details. Trying to piece bits of conversation together. Getting glimpses that are doing nothing but confusing me. And I’m not even wanting to tell anyone about my Friday night/super early Saturday morning with CJ. I’d just like to know what happened for myself. Specifics. All of them.

I remember tequila—there’s no forgetting that. Finding out my grade and celebrating together. I remember his low, rumbly laugh in my ear and his hold around my waist. Were we hugging? Dancing? I think I remember dancing. I definitely remember CJ in my bedroom—I can still see him standing over me, face tense, looking angry about something. What, I have no idea. All’s I know is he didn’t stay in my room. I didn’t wake up next to him. In fact, I didn’t even see him yesterday at all. The two times I pulled my head out of the toilet and went to the kitchen to get something to drink, CJ’s door was closed. He never came out.

Why? Is he avoiding me? Did I do something or say something wrong?

I drop the bottle back into the cup holder and pinch the top of my nose, thinking back. Trying to remember.

Tequila. Dancing. CJ in my bedroom, not looking too thrilled to be there . . .

A sick feeling twists in my stomach.

Ohhh, no. Nonononono . . .

What if I begged him? What if that's why he was in my room? I know I wanted him in my bed—that’s all I seem to want lately. What if I shared those desires and pleaded with CJ to carry them out? And now he feels embarrassed for me, and being the decent guy that he is, he's giving me space because he thinks I’ll feel weird being around him after the way I acted.

Sloppy. Sex-starved.

He’s huge. I didn’t drag him into my room against his will, did I? Am I even capable of doing that?

Groaning, I drop my head forward until it hits the steering wheel. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Never again, tequila. Never. Again. You're dead to me.

After wallowing in my shame for a solid minute, I guzzle the rest of my water before dragging myself out of my car.

I can’t just sit here forever. I have prep work to do. And I refuse to make people wait for their hot meal. It might be the only one they get all week.

I lock up and get halfway up the walkway to the front doors at Holy Cross when a loud horn startles me, halts my footwork, and whips my head around.

Reed’s truck finishes pulling into a space two down from my car. I watch Beth lean over and kiss him through the windshield, then her door is opening and she’s jumping down, those cute black flowered boots of hers smacking the asphalt.

I glance down at my own footwear, squint, and then shake my head when I realize I have on one black Chuck and one navy blue. Awesome.

Life- I’ve lost count. Me- somewhere in the negatives.

Beth leaves her door open and moves around it to step up onto the sidewalk. She walks toward me, smiling and lifting her hand in a wave. “Hey. He wants to talk to you,” she says over the rumbling noise behind her. “I’ll meet you inside.”

I look from her face to the windshield, squinting. Huh. I wonder what this is about? “Uh, okay. Can you make sure Wendy puts out the fliers she made for the clothing drive? I want them on the tables before people start arriving.”

Beth nods when I meet her eyes again. “Yep. I’ll do that.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in in a sec.”

“Okay.”

We move past each other, and when I get close to Reed’s truck, moving to the left of it to get to the open passenger side door, I wave at him through the windshield.

He doesn’t wave back.

“Yo,” I nearly shout just as Reed is cutting off the engine. I tilt my head up and peer across the seat. “What’s up? I gotta get in there and delegate.”

“What the fuck, Riley,” he growls, his one arm bent, resting on the wheel, and his body angled, turned toward me and rigid against the leather.

I jerk back. “What? I’m not saying your wife can’t delegate. I’m just saying, that’s my job.”

“You’re living with CJ? How the fuck long has this been going on for?”

My mouth falls open. Panic floods me and causes my stomach to do a rollercoaster drop. “How do you know that?” I ask, voice so quiet I’m not sure Reed will be able to hear me.

His brows knit together. He’s hearing me. “You told me you are. What do you mean, how do I know that? You left me a message saying you’re living with him and in some sort of squad together, whatever the fuck that means.”

You know when you forget parts of your dream, important, crucial parts, and then somebody reminds you of these forgotten moments and you just want to pretend you’re not hearing them, these moments never happened, and you’ve suddenly gone deaf?

I blink and tilt my head to the side. “Huh?”

That’s happening to me right now.

Reed scowls. “You know, we could’ve cleared this up yesterday if you would’ve answered your phone the thirty times I called it, but you didn’t. So, before you go in and delegate, we’re clearing it up. How long?” he asks.

“I kept my phone off all day.”

“How long, Riley?” he presses.

I shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”