Before I even opened my eyes the next morning, I thought to myself, Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.

            I jolted out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom adjoining to my room, before I hurled up all the contents that had been in my stomach since the night before—mostly the alcohol. My body did not react well to alcoholic beverages, apparently. Even with the slight amount of beer I'd had... Okay, so maybe three bottles and half of one of Matt's to ease my nerves from Cole's text, but still!

            When I was done, I brushed my teeth and showered, washing my hair as a way of trying to feel a little better. I was in a pretty foul mood right now, with a pounding headache and twisting stomach that threatened to make me puke at any given time.

            When I was done, I wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel and decided to let my hair dry naturally. I jolted when I saw a note on the bed, and opened the crisp, white paper.

            Hey, Gracie. As much as I enjoyed playing Prince Charming for you last night, I don’t exactly love carrying sleeping princesses up the staircase. I think I almost broke my back on the way up, so can you please refrain from falling asleep drunk for me in the future?

            Love Your Totally Awesome and Bestest Friend (And now probably with back injuries),

~Matt

            I grinned and then put the note in between the pages of one of the books where I wrote my songs and then put it back in my top drawer where I kept my prized possessions. Matt was one of those people who was awesome at notes and letters and words and emails. He was funny and creative.

            The house was all quiet, and I remembered that my mother and Angel were at her tennis training. Thank God my mother didn’t have to see me suffering my first hangover. She would be so ashamed.

            I went to the fridge to pour myself some orange juice, dressed only in the white towel that just reached mid-thigh and my hair still dripping wet when the voice interrupted my thoughts.

            "Please… don’t stop on my account."

            I yelped in surprise and grabbed a frying pan off the stove, ready to face whatever burglar or murderer stood before me, whirling around and almost slipping on the floorboards beneath my still-moist feet.

            But there wasn’t any burglar or murderer there ready to pounce on me. Instead, before me, stood the illustrious and infamous Bad Boy of Alderidge High, Cole Adams, wearing a delectable black t-shirt, leather jacket and dark-washed jeans.

            I couldn’t even begin to fathom how idiotic I must have looked. Short white towel, dripping hair and frying pan, probably a fearsome expression on my face. Wow, I must be nearly ready for the catwalk.

            Before I had time to react or even to really think, Cole pulled out his cell-phone and snapped several pictures of me. The light blinded me, and I squinted in terror, not sure what the Hell was going on.

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