I choose to sleep in the living room that night even though George's bed was free. Simply because I want to sleep, not think about sleeping with him.

And in the morning it's the same. Showering, drinking coffee, eating, watching videos, eating again. I'm not even motivated to go to the gym, my body's aching enough from the radiating pain of my soul.

But Clay never misses a day. I'm jealous of his willpower and there's envy in my eyes as I watch him get ready to leave. He looks back at me one last time after adjusting his beanie.

"You sure you don't wanna come?"

So what if I miss the 8th day in a row? First I had my period and now I just don't wanna go.

"I'm good," I mumble against the pillow, keeping my eyes glued to my phone.

"Come try to bench double your weight again," he grins, "maybe today's your lucky day."

No way he still remembers that. I kept telling myself that nobody remembers and that's the way I blocked it from my memory. Guess I was wrong and it's gonna haunt me for the rest of my life.

"Bye," I'm too unenergetic to argue with him.

"Bye-bye," he waves and leaves.

Ugh.

I spend another hour on Instagram and realize that Nick's been staring at me for the at least half of the said hour. I look up from my phone and narrow my eyes at him.

"What?" I pull my brows together.

"Why do you look like that?" He frowns.

"Like what?" I hope he doesn't say like shit.

"Like you have better things to do than living," this must be the most accurate description I heard throughout these days.

Unfortunately, I don't have an answer to his question. I annoy myself lately, I can imagine how annoying I must be to them.

I just raise my shoulders with a deep breath and exhale, letting them fall. That's the best explanation I can give.

Another ten minutes pass and Nick comes up with the greatest solution of all time. Not that I would tell him, but he doesn't even try to find out the reason behind my shitty mood, he quickly offers a solution.

"Do you wanna do vodka shots?"

I look at him judgmentally. He bought a huge bottle of vodka the other day to spray his lemon tree with it, claiming that it's a good pesticide. And thinking about it, maybe that's why the tree is half-dead at this point.

"Bet I can beat your ass," he has the nerve to continue challenging me, knowing damn well that at least 1/2 of my parents are Russian.

"How much you wanna bet I'll mop the floors with your body after the third shot?" I drop my phone to my belly, sitting up straight cause finally something intriguing is happening in my life.

"Mop the floors because you'll be throwing up after the second shot?"

Why is he testing my patience?

"Bring it."

Nick gets up with a grin and returns with slices of lemon, the vodka bottle, along with two shot glasses that make me feel like I'm at work - minus the migraine from a slicked-back pony and the drunk sweaty men.

Also, the vodka brand he bought is questionable. And from the smell alone I can tell that it's closer to being rubbing alcohol than something safe to consume. But I've been drinking moonshines instead of milk since I was a kid, it surely can't get worse.

I do the honors of pouring the shots with a smooth little trick; you know, gotta show off when there's a chance.

"What a flex," Nick shakes his head, laughing.

"Cheers?" I smirk, holding up the shot glass and waiting for him to do the same so we can down it at the same time.

Nick smells the vodka and drops a slice of lemon into his glass. He can't even tolerate the smell, I don't see what's the point of drinking.

"Cheers." However, he nods, clinking his glass to mine before we both bring the edge close to our lips.

I pour the whole thing into my mouth, swallow it, and chase it with lemon.

The tanginess of the vodka, the sourness of the lemon; none of those makes me flinch. I look at Nick and smirk seeing that he's trying his best to not look in pain.

"You need some water?" I chuckle pouring the second shot.

"Hm-mm," he declines my offer. I see the fear in his eyes when I almost overflow the glasses this time, "tastes like gasoline."

What he bought is low quality to say the least, but it's still vodka, so, "What did you expect?"

Nick shakes his head and holds the glass - this time, more determined.

We take the shots.

I smile.

Nick scrunches up his nose.

I pour another.

Another six.

Maybe it's because the alcohol didn't have enough time to absorb from how quickly we did those eight shots. After all, I didn't feel tipsy at all while drinking, I was just a bit light-headed. But it takes me a two-minute toilet break to stop trusting my balance, feel my head getting heavy and numb and giggle at my reflection while washing my hands.

And when I go back to the living room, I find Nick squeezing lemon juice into his mouth. Not even a drop landed in his mouth though, it all dribbled down his chin and neck.

Why do I kinda wanna lick it clean?

Anyways, I go sit on the couch, pouring another shot for whatever reason and emptying it alone. All I can focus on is the fact that Nick looks sexier and sexier every passing second. And I don't know what's happening to him, but he's coming up with better and better ideas.

"Let's take a shot, whoever flinches gives head to the winner."

My eyes widen because that's the most creative thing I've ever heard someone come up with. But I have one question-

"What if we both flinch?"

"Then we sixty-nine," he must be a genius.

But I have another question-

"What if none of us flinch?"

This one must've been harder. It takes him a second to answer.

"Don't worry, I always flinch."

I start giggling again and he smiles like an idiot which turns my giggles into a laugh. My laugh must be contagious. Before I know both of us are laughing.

I'm so excited for this game that I even come up with a strategy. From what I've heard about the rules, I think the best option is to fake-flinch, cause he's gonna flinch anyway.

But my thought train hits a wall when Nick's phone rings and I see Clay's name on the screen. I spend a few seconds remembering where he was, then almost forget who he was. But when my brain finds the answer to both of the questions, it also finds the images of how hot he looked working out.

I wish he was here to play this game with us.

"Put it on speaker," I order, pushing the phone towards Nick. He picks up and does as I said.

I lose my concentration completely and don't hear the start of their conversation, but I think Clay was saying something about Patches and Nick was giving him one-word answers.

At one point I snapped back to what was happening and caught up to their conversation.

"Why do you sound like that?" There's gym music playing in the background of Clay's voice.

"Like what?" Nick's been smiling this whole time.

"Like you have dicks in your mouth," Clay sounds irritated. His voice is so hot.

"I wish I had dicks in my mouth," I forgot that the phone was on speaker and I forgot how inconvenient it is to sometimes think out loud. But eh, not the end of the world, at least I'm being honest.

The line goes silent, all I hear is Nick giggling.

"What?" Clay must've left the gym cause the music is no longer there. He should've stayed though, I was vibing, "Are you fucking drunk?"

Nick looks at his phone with that idiotic grin, "We're not fucking yet, but yeah, she's drunk."

I snort, and before Clay can speak, both of us start giggling uncontrollably again, "You're drunk!" I kick Nick's leg with mine.

"Nope, you are," he laughs.

"Nick." We hear the familiar voice again, and now the background noise is changed. There are cars, he's outside.

"Yea?" Nick is pouring the shots, I guess we're finally starting the game.

"Are you listening?" Clay double-checks if his friend is deaf or not.

"Yea," and Nick gives me the heads up to take the shots, not that interested in what Clay has to say.

"If you even dare to breathe close to her while she's fucking drunk," I spill some of the vodka trying to grab the glass and lick my fingers, "I swear to god Nick, I'll chop your fucking head off."