I give you, Drunk Krista. 

Here is your complementary shot of tequila.

Enjoy <3

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was about my resignation.

Because once I left Topaz, I would no longer be able to use my staff discount on liquor. So she would no longer be able to use my staff discount on liquor.

In practice, I mean, I probably still could have claimed a discount. Zach would have given me an exception because he had a soft spot for me. And for my farewell party tonight, my friends had even convinced me to drink.

Ever since The Leap—a seminal moment in my life—I had felt more comfortable in myself, and in public, than ever. I was still a homebody for sure, but I found myself enjoying the antics on the eighth floor much more when I could be myself. I didn't feel as stifled as I once did when I knew I could tell people, if I so wished, to fuck right off.

The Jays, Riley, Viv and I all raised our tequila shots in the air. Glass in our left hands, lemon in our right. "To Kris!" they toasted.

I licked the salt off the base of my thumb, downed the spirit quick enough to avoid tasting it, and bit a chunk out of the lemon. After a beat, a warm burn swept through my chest and spread down my torso.

Man, it had been a long time since I'd had alcohol.

Because I'd been out of practice for so long, I didn't intend to get drunk tonight. But I was willing to get tipsy and begin the first step of building up my tolerance. Unfortunately, that was not what my friends had in mind. A quick look around at the four of them made me realise that none of them had taken their shots.

Jamie slid his shot over to me, smiling wickedly. "One shot for getting a raise." I eyed the glass suspiciously.

"Don't waste my liquor, girl," Zach chastised me from behind the bar. "Drink up."

I rolled my eyes and downed a second shot. "One shot for quitting your job," Jake added, prodding his shot glass along the bar towards me.

"No fucking way," I protested, but Jake had lifted the glass to my lips, ready to pour. I sighed and grabbed the glass from him, sinking the third.

Riley kissed me on the cheek. "Sorry, Kris. But, one shot for applying to grad school."

"You're all going to hell," I cursed my friends, and grabbed the salt shaker. The fourth one went down easy because my chest was already so heated. The difference it made was negligible.

Viv was last, and she had prepared the shot glass neatly in front of me, with a perfect wedge of lemon resting on the rim. "One shot for telling your Mom. That took balls."

I rolled my eyes and tipped my head back, already feeling the rush of blood and a pleasant hum in my ears. When I placed the glass back down onto the counter, I saw all five of the empty vessels tidily lined up. Five shots of tequila in succession.

What the fuck had I just done?

Zach was smiling at me with a congratulatory thumbs up.

"You must have a huge amount of trust in me, believing I'm not going to throw up in here," I muttered at him, my tongue feeling heavy in my mouth.

"Not at all," my ex-manager smirked. "I've hired a cleaning crew to come in tomorrow just for you, just in case, actually. But we all love you and think you deserve a night of blitzed brains."

"Yeah," Jake nudged me with his elbow. "Drunk Kris is a part of you, too," he reasoned, referencing that early morning philosophical conversation we'd shared a few days ago. "It's about time she made a public appearance."

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If it wasn't jam-packed with people on the dancefloor, I would have face-planted a long time ago.

To my credit, I had yet to vomit after five tequila shots. That was an achievement. My friends and I were dancing along to the pounding, bass-heavy music. Jake and Jamie jumped along to the beat opposite me, forming a small circle among the crowd. I was so drunk I couldn't tell them apart anymore, side-by-side.

Riley and Viv were beside me, each with an arm around my waist. My arms around their shoulders kept me upright because my head was straight swimming with noises and swirling lights.

Everything was fun and interesting in my drunken state. Seeing the technicolour strobe lights streak and flash across my vision was an almost-magical experience. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, perfectly synchronised with the beat of the drums. Tequila was such a pretty name. My sense of time distorted.

If asked, I wouldn't be able to gauge how long we'd danced. Each of my friends left in alternating shifts to get more drinks for themselves, making sure that I was always accompanied. I swung my head around as I danced, feeling the soft swish of my hair down my back.

A tall, dark head of hair caught my eye as I twirled around, but when I looked back, he wasn't there. Minutes later I caught another glimpse. I paused my motions and focused all my efforts on seeing properly. Then Quen appeared out of the crowd, like the hazy mist of vape and sweat had condensed into a solid being.

He was here.

Instantly an intense wave of emotion washed over me. I was embarrassed that I'd behaved so spinelessly and in the process hurt him. I was annoyed that he'd suggested I had ulterior motives to our friendship. And gutted that I didn't take the chance to explain myself.

I missed the way the world fell quiet every time our eyes met—

The way it did when Quen saw me, easily picking me out from the crowd at his height.

The bass dulled, and my heartbeat jumped up in volume. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Man, Zach had to sort out the ventilation in here. He should have opened some windows.

Before my better judgment could kick in, I slid out of my friends' grasps. I disappeared into the crowd, walking over to Quen with purpose.

"You're here."

"I'm here," Quen said over the music. He wouldn't meet my eyes, but his eyes wandered around my face.

After our disastrous confrontation in Science 1, we'd entered the awkwardest dynamic I'd ever experienced in my life. Friends who resented each other but bottled it up. Quen resented me for suddenly throwing him out of my life and never explaining. I had resented him for never seeing past his prejudice to give me a chance, even if it was irrational. It was what we felt. And it was unhealthy.

So I wasn't leaving tonight without saying everything I had to say.

Except I was drunk. Drunk Kris always humiliated regular Kris. As the rainbow strobe lights blinked into my eyes and the room twirled around, I accepted throwing up on his shoes as a likely outcome. I was going to embarrass myself tonight. But it had to be done. I had shit to say.

I noted the redness to Quen's face and the haziness in his eyes and the absent smile on his lips, even when his eyes were cold. Had he been drinking too?

"Who are you here with? I hope it's not Noah."

Quen scoffed, eyes dropping yet another ten degrees in warmth. "Noah and I aren't friends anymore."

"Why—"

A guy wearing flannel collided into me, a bottle of beer clutched in his loose hand. I went slamming into Quen's body. His chest was solid and warm, but he didn't budge an inch under my momentum, which sent me swaying back onto my heels. I shuffled back quickly and righted myself.

For a moment I forgot that I was at Topaz in a civilian capacity, ready to act on the usual liability protocol. But Quen pulled the drunk man to his feet with a solid grip on his forearm. Quen deftly turned him ninety degrees and stepped between us, not even batting an eyelash as the man stumbled deeper into the crowd.

I was almost too busy screeching at the protective hand he laid on my shoulder to catch, "He came home after Callum's party and badmouthed you."

"Oh." Nice guy. Right. I smiled wryly. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I know he badmouthed me. To my face as well!"

Quen cocked his head. "Why would that make me feel better?"

Because I hurt you. If he had a petty bone in his body, he would have wanted to hurt me back. Like when I ghosted his messages after crashing his date with Jo. Another thing to apologise for.

But Quen wasn't petty. Hurt, sure. Not petty.

I glossed over it. "I don't know. So who are you here with?"

"I'm here with some of my band friends."

"Really?" I thought I had seen Callum's curly locks for a split second before, but there was no-one that I knew alongside Quen.

"Right over here." Quen gestured to where I thought Callum had been.

Except he wasn't there.

"What the fuck?" Quen swore, swivelling his head around the dancefloor. When his search proved unsuccessful, his frustrated gaze dropped to me and softened. "Krista, are you... drunk?"

"Ah. Haha," I giggled for five straight seconds. "Yes! I am. Fuck. But I'm not an employee tonight, so it's okay. I am profesh."

"Are you now?" he wondered, surprise cleaving apart the civil but stony expression on his face.

Quen was inching closer to the wall, which fell away into the stairwell to the VIP lounge, guiding me as I swayed to the music. Great idea. I wanted to take him to the Lounge so that I could pour out my heart in relative tranquility.

"How are you feeling?"

"Bup, bup, bup. Nope," I snapped, hooking an arm around his elbow and dragging him along with me. Quen didn't fight it. "You don't need to look after me. I have so much experience looking after drunk people, myself included. Remember, I was the one dragging your ass out of Callum's party."

"I remember."

"After we made a pact not to drink!"

Initially, Quen looked confused. He stared at my face, lips parted and eyebrows drawn, with no clue what I was talking about.

His expression clouded as he wandered through his memory to Callum's flat party, not much of which he remembered.

I never did find out why he decided to get so utterly plastered that night, until: "I'm sorry. I heard you and Noah talking," Quen admitted.

My breath caught in my throat.

"Not that I was eavesdropping. But when he said you were out of my league, it hurt and I went to drink my woes away. Sorry for abandoning you."

So he did remember that night!

Why wouldn't he address it till now? I had wanted to tell him for so long that Noah was out of line saying those things to me, that he shouldn't let his friend's wrong opinions deter him from giving us a chance. But with the impression that Quen didn't remember a thing, I kept quiet.

My heart squeezed thinking of his reaction to hearing those words. I couldn't imagine what a blow it would be to hear that you weren't in a high enough league for someone—irrational as the very concept of leagues were.

Did it strike on his insecurities? Those shielded insecurities that never saw the light of day, those shielded insecurities that I was lucky enough, once, to see a glimpse of. I remembered that afternoon we'd spent leisurely walking around campus after his marching band rehearsals. He'd revealed that he wasn't overly confident in the way he looked or the relationships he had.

Even if he didn't want me, it must have hurt a lot.

I guided Quen into the line for the VIP lounge. Two people stood in front of us—men old enough to sport beards on top of their tropical print shirts.

"I should have honestly just walked away as soon as the conversation got heated. I never meant to talk about you behind your back. I'm sorry. And I shouldn't have frozen you out these last couple months without communicating to you why. That's not what a good friend does, and I wasn't acting like a good friend."

At the mention of being a good friend, I realised I was still clutching Quen's arm like a debutante ready to be presented. I dropped it and stepped forward, smiling at the security guard working the checkpoint.

I paid for access to the VIP lounge, which was popular tonight. No free booths. I kept glancing over my shoulder to check that Quentin was behind me, following me into the Pit. Several of the minimalist black couches supported canoodling couples. Some couples even attempted second base in public.

My God, this was going to be even worse than I thought.