We hit the coat check and burst out onto the street, greeted by the din of downtown traffic and cool evening air. Bailey bit her bottom lip and lingered by the doors, hesitating, like she was suddenly having second thoughts about leaving with me. But letting her go back into the club in her state was way riskier; she'd be a sitting duck for any creep that came along.

"Let's start walking," I said, nodding my chin. "The fresh air will be good for you. I can order us a ride on the way."

Ironically, this was the outcome I'd been angling for earlier—going home with her—only minus the fun I'd hoped to have after.

Then it hit me that these optics of this situation weren't great. Taking Derek James's sister home when she was drunk off her ass looked pretty incriminating, even if my intentions were good.

We reached the corner and I hit the button for the pedestrian crossing signal. A cacophony of horns and sirens echoed in the distance while we waited. As the light turned to "walk," I took a step, starting to cross.

"Wait." Bailey held up a hand. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly between pursed lips. Then she closed her eyes, swallowing hard. Please tell me she wasn't going to puke.

I stepped back up onto the sidewalk. "How much did you drink, anyway?"

She reopened her big hazel eyes, impossibly long lashes fluttering as she blinked, trying to focus on me. "I dunno." She shrugged, furrowing her brow. "Two vodka sevens and two shots of tequila? No, three shots. One had something else like Malibu."

"You don't drink much, huh?" I asked.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a hunch."

"Not really," she admitted. "I turned 21 yesterday."

Which means Morrison dumped her on her birthday. This explained why she was so drunk. Nice touch, dickbag. Not that I was surprised.

We resumed walking at a glacial pace while she made a concerted effort to remain upright. Great. At this rate we would cover approximately one block per hour. Suddenly, a light mist of rain started to fall. Not enough to soak us, but enough to make us damp in that unpleasant, clothes-sticking-to-you kind of way.

"We need to get you home." I pulled out my phone to order a ride. "What's your address?"

"I'm in the brownstones on—" she stopped short, putting a hand cover her mouth. Turning, she gagged and proceeded to throw up in the row of tall green hedges beside her. I averted my eyes, trying to give her some semblance of privacy. Or at least, as much privacy as one could have while vomiting on a public street.

After retching a few more times, she straightened back up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "303 Park Lane. It's near south campus." Then she turned away, throwing up for a second time. I held my phone, unsure whether I should try to help her somehow or just stay out of her way.

"Are you—" I paused, waiting for her to finish dry-heaving. "Are you okay?"

Usually, I was the one getting asked that question by other people. You know things had gotten dire when I was the chaperone.

"I think so," Bailey mumbled, pulling herself upright. She fumbled around in her tiny black purse, emerging with a package of tissues and a pack of gum. She wiped her mouth and popped a piece of gum into her mouth without offering me one, which was probably for the best; I had a feeling she was going to throw up again and need it for herself.

"Do you want me to call your brother?"

Her eyes widened. "No. He would freak if he saw me like this. Especially with you."

Good point.

As we shuffled down the second street, the rain began to fall in earnest, soaking through our clothes. Her place was a good twenty-minute drive away. She would never make it that long in a car without emptying the remaining contents of her stomach on the floor. And if we kept up this pace, we would be drenched by the time we walked there.

"Come on," I said, gently steering her by the arm and changing directions. My place was five minutes away and it was the only option. At least, until she stopped throwing up.

But then what? I couldn't call her in a ride in this condition by herself. Escorting her to her place on campus at this time of night wasn't viable either, especially after crushing Callingwood in tonight's game. There would be angry, drunken Bulldogs fans prowling campus and I needed my limbs in working condition.

"Come on where?"

"You asked me to go home with you. So that's what we're doing. We're going to my place."

Bailey frowned. "Oh. Right." She fell quiet for a moment. "Then can we have sex?"

"I prefer my companions sober enough to actually remember our encounter the next day," I said dryly.

"I'm fine, I just..." she stopped and turned, throwing up again. But this time, she didn't turn away fast enough. She missed the bushes and some of it splashed on my shoes. One of the shots she did must have been blue. Lovely.

"Yeah," I said. "It's a no."

"I can rally."

"Look." I stopped, spinning her around to face me. She peered back up at me innocently, lips in a small pout. Somehow, she still looked super hot. "There is no scenario where that is happening tonight."

Another night would be a different story. I wasn't sure what it said about me, but even after seeing her vomit a night's worth of drinks curbside, I would totally hit it. From on top, from behind, you name it.

"But you sleep with anyone with a pair of boobs."

"Well, that's not entirely—"

"Am I not pretty enough for you? You seemed to think so earlier."

"You're very pretty," I said, fighting a smile. "And I didn't say never. I just said not tonight. Not while you're in this condition. When we hook up—if we hook up—you'll want to remember it."

"Hmm. You are really hot." Bailey ran her hands up and down my torso, probing the muscles beneath my shirt. My cock perked up in response but sadly, his services wouldn't be needed this evening. "It's a shame you're such a jerk." She teetered to the side, losing her balance.

I reached out and caught her waist to stop her from falling off the curb as a car whizzed past. "It's a shame you're so rude."

"More like honest."

"Do you always lack a filter, or is this the booze talking?"

She tilted her head back and laughed. "I have no idea." After a moment, her expression turned serious, inquisitive. Limpid eyes fixed on mine, probing. "Are you as good as everyone says?"

I shrugged. "You've seen me play."

"That's not what I mean." She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. "I meant in bed."

Well, she sure knew how to stroke a guy's ego. Too bad it was the only thing that would be getting stroked tonight.

"Ah. I guess you'll have to find that out for yourself another time."

After a rather eventful stroll home that took twenty minutes longer than it should have, peppered with small talk and sexual requests that made even me blush, we finally arrived at the house I shared with Dallas and Tyler.

"Wow, this is fancy," she said, gaping at the modern grey stucco house. "How do you swing this? Is your family rich?"

Kind of, but I wasn't. Dallas's family, however, was fucking loaded. Hence the sweet digs. I unlocked the door, pushing it open with my hip while holding Bailey upright with my other hand.

"Something like that."

She stumbled inside, tossing her coat on the floor. Then she flopped down beside the entry mat, unbuckling the straps on her high heels and standing back up, barefoot.

"I want to go to sleep."

"Right away," I promised. "But you can't sleep in that." I nodded to her outfit. It was damp from the rain and, like my shoes, her white tank top had fallen victim to the blue vomit splash incident.

She was a hot mess. Literally.

"I don't have anything else to wear, though." Bailey frowned.

"Give me a sec." We made our way upstairs and I led her into my bedroom, turning on the light in the attached bathroom so we could see without it being too bright. Any of my bottoms would probably fall right off her tiny waist, so a T-shirt was all I had to offer.

Pulling open the top drawer, I grabbed a well-worn red Falcons t-shirt and handed it to her. Sure, I had other shirts. But giving her this was like my own inside joke against that dick Morrison.

"Here," I said. "You can change in the bathroom. Washcloths are under the sink if you need one. And mouthwash."

Bailey froze on the spot, staring at the bed. She turned to face me, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. "Are you going to sleep in the bed too?"

She looked awfully scandalized for someone who asked if she could sit on my face just twenty minutes ago.

"Well, yeah. The other bedroom upstairs belongs to my roommate Dallas, who's probably in there with some chick. Tyler's room is in the basement and I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole, for reasons I won't get into. And I don't fit on our couch." I gestured to myself as if to illustrate my height. "But you can sleep there if want. I'll warn you, though, it's not comfortable."

I hated Dallas's stupid modern square-shaped sectional. Sure, it looked cool, but it had these weird immovable armrests and felt like sitting on a bag of rocks. My ass always ached after playing video games on that thing.

"I don't know..." Bailey chewed her bottom lip.

"I can assure you, I'm not going to try anything."

"Okay." She yawned, rubbing her eyes. "I trust you. I don't know why, but I do."

"I'll go grab you some water."

By the time I returned from the kitchen, glassof water in hand, she had changed into my shirt and was on top of the covers,passed out cold diagonally. Snoring.

Light flooded through the gaps in the curtains, growing progressively brighter and brighter. I was thirsty beyond belief. Every muscle in my body was sore as if I'd just run a marathon. And my head ached like someone was beating me with a hockey stick.

I groaned and pulled the dark covers over my head, trying to block out the light—and reality. If I could just get back to sleep, maybe I'd wake up later and realize all of this had been a bad dream. Then from the corner of my eye, I realized that the covers I was hiding beneath were dark grey, not navy blue like mine...and they smelled like cologne.

Really delicious cologne.

Where the hell was I?

Pieces of last night started to come back to me. Luke blowing me off at the game, hitting the club with Zara and Noelle, running into Chase Carter...Oh my god—Carter. I threw off the covers and let out a gasp. I was wearing a crimson Falcons t-shirt.

The uniform of the enemy.

I squeezed my eyes shut and slowly counted to five. Maybe I was hallucinating from all the stress. I reopened one eye, peeking at my surroundings. Sadly, I was still in the same place: Chase Carter's bedroom. No, not just his bedroom. His sex dungeon.

Fine, it didn't really look like a sex dungeon, not that I'd really know what one looked like. The walls were a crisp, clean white and the soft cotton sheets and comforter were charcoal grey. There was a small flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, a glass computer desk with a laptop, and an acoustic guitar leaning in the corner. All in all, it was clean and minimalist and not at all fraternity-guy like I'd expected. Actually, if I was being honest, it was nicer than Luke's bedroom.

But I wasn't the first, nor would I be the last, girl to wake up right here. I was probably customer number 238, with a line-up around the block to take my place. Take a ticket and get in line, ladies.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Chase appeared in the doorway and leaned against the frame, clutching a black mug in his hands. He was freshly showered, wearing fitted grey joggers and a white V-neck t-shirt, with his dark hair still damp. Even I had to admit he looked hot—like an athleticwear model or something equally appealing.

I didn't want to know what I looked like. I knew it wasn't good. Or appealing.

He nodded at my shirt. "Red suits you."

I pulled myself upright, yanking the covers up to my chin. I was in a t-shirt and underwear and I wasn't wearing any pants. His t-shirt wasn't that long on me, either. No pants. Not even shorts. Did that mean we had sex? Oh, no. No, no, no.

"Did we...?" I asked, too embarrassed to finish my sentence. Nausea roiled through me and not just from the hangover.

He shook his head. "No."

I eyed him warily, hyperaware of my bare bottom half beneath the blanket. Did he sleep next to me under the covers last night? Did his butt graze my butt? Did I snore? Oh my god.

"I don't take advantage of drunk girls." Chase pushed off from the doorframe, taking a few long strides over to stand at the foot of the bed. My breath stilled, heart accelerating. Somehow, I felt extra-undressed with him so close to me. "Though in this case," he added, "I think it was you who tried to take advantage of me, James."

"You know my last name?"

"Of course," he said. "You tried to get in my pants."

"I did what?" I frowned, mentally replaying last night's events. The beginning of the evening was fairly clear, but then it got increasingly blurry. Either way, surely I didn't do that. "No, you're the one who was hitting on me with all your lame airport innuendo."

"That was before you got blackout drunk. You came back later and found me. Cockblocked me in the process, I might add." He raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Then you wanted to go home, but it wasn't safe to let you leave alone in the state you were in, so I brought you back here. Nothing happened."

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you sure?"

"We didn't have sex. We didn't even kiss."

"Thanks...I guess." I grumbled. Chase Carter, perfect gentleman? Who knew?

"Oh, don't thank me." His lips quirked. "You made for fascinating conversation on the walk home."

My stomach lurched. "Like what?" I didn't drink often, and for good reason. When I was under the influence, I had a tendency to blab anything and everything to anyone who would listen. My life story, my innermost secrets, it was all up for grabs. It didn't take much to get to that point, either, because I was a total lightweight.

"You've got quite the mouth on you. Made some very explicit requests." He smirked. "Sounds like Morrison wasn't exactly keeping up his end of the bargain in the bedroom."

I wanted to crawl back underneath the covers. Or maybe just die. Dying sounded pretty good right now.

"But no, I didn't take you up on your many, colorful offers. It might have been tempting, if not for the fact that you could barely walk straight. And the fact that you threw up on my shoes."

I cringed. "I'm sorry. I'll pay to replace them if you want."

"Don't worry about it. I think I got most of it off." He nodded to the foot of the bed, where my skirt and tank top lay neatly folded. "And your clothes are there. I washed them."

"You didn't have to—"

"Oh, trust me, I did. Otherwise this place would have reeked of vomit and Malibu."

Rough weekend. Brings a whole new meaning to sleeping with the enemy.

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