Chapter 1: Tequila Regrets and a Stranger's Call

Waking up with my head pounding like a jackhammer, I had this sudden, painful epiphany: if you’re a girl who likes to party, you really, really can’t trust yourself around tequila. Seriously. One minute you’re doing shots, and the next thing you know, you’re clinging to some random hot guy, bawling your eyes out in public. Not my proudest moment, I swear.

I squinted against the sunlight filtering through the slats of my white blinds, those bright stripes painting weird patterns on my comforter. My head felt like a marching band was practicing in my skull—loud, relentless, no rhythm. I groaned, dragging my hand through my tangled hair, cursing tequila, my own lack of self-control, and the universe in general. God help me. No matter how hard I tried to forget, the memories from last night’s disaster were painfully clear. That unfamiliar, stupidly handsome face—I remembered every mortifying detail. I’d actually mistaken some random, ridiculously attractive guy for my scumbag ex while I was drunk. Kill me now.

It played in my mind, every second: the moment I grabbed his leg, the guy just froze. He looked so cool and distant, but then his neck went red all the way up to his ears. One minute he was all shy, but when I called out my ex’s name, his face totally darkened, and the whole vibe turned icy. And me? Oblivious, still clinging to his leg, yelling, “You jerk! How dare you dump me first? Th-think you can just walk away? Who even do you think you are? When I started going out, you were still a nobody, you hear me?!”

With every insult, his face just kept getting darker. But even with my wild, embarrassing outburst, he didn’t shove me off or anything. Instead, he took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, then lifted his arm so I wouldn’t smack my head on the wall. I remember thinking, even in my drunken state, that was weirdly gentle.

Thinking about that jacket, I glanced over at the men’s coat tossed on my desk chair. I picked it up, gave it a sniff, and raised an eyebrow—it smelled amazing. It was like fresh cedar and something dark—maybe a cologne I’d smelled before, but I couldn’t quite place it. I sniffed again, because apparently I’m a weirdo, and when I realized what I was doing, my cheeks burned so hard. Oh my god, what is wrong with me? I clearly still wasn’t all the way sober.

Annoyed, I groaned into my pillow, half-wishing I could just sink through the mattress. And right then, my phone rang—an unknown number. I fumbled to answer, mumbling into the phone, “Who’s this?”

There was a pause, and then a guy’s voice—really pleasant, smooth: “Did you get home safe?”

He didn’t say his name, but somehow, the second he spoke, I just knew. It was the guy I’d drunkenly latched onto. My brain totally short-circuited. “Yeah, I’m home.”

His voice was so gentle and clear: “Good. I’m glad.”

Long silence. He didn’t add anything, so finally I blurted, “Is there anything else?”

He replied, voice low, almost like he was embarrassed: “No, that’s all. Bye.”

After he hung up, I just stared at my phone, dazed. So he called just to check if I got home safe? When did I even give him my number? I couldn’t remember at all! Was there some secret drunk-girl protocol I’d missed?

I was still piecing things together when my best friend Mariah barged in, not even knocking.

“You’re up?”

I quickly shoved my phone away and threw my arms around her, hamming it up: “Thank God for you, Mariah.”

She made a face and shoved me off. “Seriously, girl, you outdid yourself this time. Your ex already treated you like garbage—breaking up was the best thing that could’ve happened! And you’re still drinking over him?”

“You’re not actually thinking about getting back with him, right? I swear, if you even think about it, I’ll get on my knees and beg you not to!”

I flailed my hands. “No way, absolutely not! I just regret not dumping him first! This time, I totally lost—he dumped me! I hate how slow I am!”

“Honestly, every relationship you’ve had is like a video game—no kissing, no hugging, what’s even the point?”

“You don’t get it. Pure love is the real deal, always.”

She rolled her eyes, full of best-friend sass. “Wow, listen to you.”