Phil’s POV
“Did you make it home okay?” Diana.
“How are you feeling?” Danny.
“Did you two talk it out?” Tim.
“Yo, you were drunk af last night,” with a picture of me with my arm thrown over Theo’s shoulders, head hanging low. That one was from Diego.
Everybody messaged me this morning and there were two missed calls, one from Diana and one from, you guessed it, Danny.
I had no idea what to say to anybody.
But especially Danny.
I couldn’t . . . face him. Not right now. Not after . . . not after everything that happened.
Theo’s hands and . . . even his mouth—he’d been all over me and the marks he’d left . . . God, when I got home the first thing I did was strip down to assess the damage.
Bite marks from this morning.
Hickeys lining my
