When I wake, I feel like I've been sleeping for a hundred years. And also a little like I've been dragged behind a speedboat over rough waters. With a shark gnawing at me for most of the trip.
"Ugh," I groan, rolling over. My tongue is thick and dry. My head fuzzy. Feels like I definitely had too much to drink last night.
Wes stirs beside me. I brush my fingers gently against his arm as I sit up. I'd really like to pull the covers over my head and block out the sunlight pouring in through my bedroom window, but I really, really have to use the bathroom.
I stumble to the bathroom, and it takes me a few minutes to find the light switch. Yeah, definitely had a rough night. I can feel it in my bones. Why did Wes let me drink so much? Maybe back in college I could drink all night and feel fi
