Losing It

“How about we make a deal?”

“How about—”

“I go fuck myself? You’re really into that.”

I can’t help but laugh. And flip him off.

He lets out that low, hearty chuckle. “I put it away. You tell these assholes to leave.”

“I don’t care if they stay.”

“I don’t want to shout over this shit.” He motions to the speakers, which are currently blasting one of Chase’s playlists.

A guy groans about wanting his ex to die miserable and alone as a guitar screeches.

It’s not hard to see why this music appeals to Chase—my brother is the picture of unforgiving—but why does anyone else like this shit?

All that bitterness isn’t healthy.

That level of attachment isn’t healthy, period.

I don’t need that kind of passion or heartbreak or hurt.

I have enough from—

Well, I’m not getting into that tonight.

“Put something else on,” I say.

He nods. “Then I ask everyone to leave and you give me every detail on the hot redhead.”

I nod. “Deal.”

Chapter Three

Quinn

For a split second, my eyes flutter open.

Bright light floods my senses.

It’s too much light. Way too much.

I press my eyelids together. Shuffle to the counter.

My fingers brush slick tile. Then plastic.

It curls softly on one side. Loops on the other.

That’s the electric kettle.

But I can’t fill it with my eyes closed.

I take a deep breath.

Let out a steady exhale.

On three.

One, two—

Fuck, it’s bright.

My eyes squint shut again.

My head throbs.

The brightness makes it worse.

Or maybe it’s that I made it to twenty-two without learning how to cure a hangover.

They’re caused by dehydration.

Maybe I can get to work early and beg Doctor Lee to hook me to an IV. Owen swears by that. Or he did. Before he settled down with the coolest, smartest, sweetest boyfriend ever.

Lucky bastard.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my brother. I love my brother-in-law. I just hate how easily everything comes for Owen.

Excellent MCAT scores. First choice med school. Residency at a great hospital.

He works nonstop.

He loves it.

I’m supposed to feel the same.

I’m supposed to be thrilled to start school.

Four weeks of summer.

Then four years of med school. Residency. Actually being a doctor.

Working every waking minute.

Slaving to medicine.

Never, ever stopping to breathe.

I try to inhale deeply, but the nausea in my throat makes it impossible.

Fuck. What time is it?

I promised Wes I’d—

Oh God.

That happened.

I keep my eyes open for long enough to grab a glass and fill it with water.

I go to swallow my first gulp, but my throat is too sore.

I choke on the fucking water.

Like last night.

It takes five minutes, but I drink the entire glass of water.

Then I fill another. Fix a simple breakfast of bacon and eggs. With extra salt.

It’s too much—it tastes like I’m eating the ocean—but it should help.

After another glass of water and a cup of English Breakfast (caffeine won’t help with dehydration but skipping it will lead to an equally horrible headache), I pull out my cell.

There’s only an hour until I need to head to Inked Hearts.

The shop where Wes works as a tattoo artist is a Venice Beach institution. It’s incredibly cool. Visiting is a treat.

Usually.

When it’s to beg him to take my virginity?

Uh…

I need to say something.

To figure out where we stand.

To figure out if I’ll die of embarrassment.

I put my thumb to the digital keyboard.

Dear Wes,

I’m sorry for rambling about my virginity. I’m sure it was a memorable event at your birthday party, but I wasn’t at my best. I really need to learn to watch my limits.

Sincerely,

Quinn

No.

That’s way too weird.

This needs to be normal.

Well, normalish.

Hey Wes,

Sorry I was rambling last night. Hope things aren’t weird. Happy Birthday again.

– Quinn

Hey Wes,

Your party was fun. Thanks for the invite! Sorry I got so drunk. Please forget everything I said.

I’ve realized I’m going to die a virgin.

But that’s better than dying of embarrassment right now.

I’m sure you’re already sleeping with some other woman.

Enjoy!

– Quinn

Hey Wes,

Let’s skip these pleasantries and get down to business. I’m not going to med school a virgin. I want to learn everything. I want you to teach me. You’re hot and fun and funny. You make me laugh and I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to make me come too.

There’s no way in hell I’m ever sending this. I can’t believe I’m even writing it.

But, God, I really, really do want to study under you.

Is that too formal?

How am I supposed to phrase this?

Wes, please, teach me how to touch and suck and fuck?

I promise I’ll study hard.

And, well, I’m pretty sure I don’t need to spell out why this is win-win.

– Quinn.

My blush spreads from my cheeks to my chest.

The heat builds in my belly.

Then below it.

It’s an appealing thought, his eyes wide as he reads this, that wicked smile pointed in my direction.

But he didn’t say yes.

His rejection is going to be painful enough without adding a desperate text message plea.

I keep it simple and to the point.