An acidic, rancid aftertaste lingered on my tongue as I flushed the pink-tinged slop down the toilet. Wiping at my mouth, I cringed and reached for a bottle of generic mouthwash to ease the bitterness coating my mouth. The mouthwash didn't taste much better, in all honesty. It burned like hell and tasted of strong alcohol masked in an artificial mint flavor. But it eased the aftereffects of the vomit, so that was something.
Oliver was still lounging on my bed when I emerged from the bathroom. His glasses were perched - crookedly, I might add - atop his nose, and his button-down hung in wrinkles against his lithe frame. He offered a toothy grin as I approached the bed, sitting near the edge and rubbing at my temples.
"That was some night, huh?"
His voice, while light and cheerful, held an undeniable sleepiness to it. I managed to force a slight smile at him, though I avoided his gaze. I'd fucked up in such an astronomical way last night. I pledged to myself that alcohol was not in my favor in the near future.
"How did we get home?" I questioned, glancing at the clock before looking towards him. "And is Lana okay?"
His smile widened as he cocked his head. "You don't remember?"
"No," I yawned against my hand, the strong aroma of warm mint tickling my nostrils. "I think I blacked out after my third drink."
"Fourth drink," he corrected. "And yeah, we all did." He paused, stretching his arms lightly in front of him. "Anyways. Lana is okay, I think James took her home."
I peered at him. "And us?"
"Those weird guys we interviewed took us home."
My face blanched. "Bill and Tom?"
He nodded, sitting up a bit more. "Yeah, they gave us a ride."
I exhaled shortly, turning my attention to the floor. "Did anything else happen?"
"What, besides us making out?"
His grin spread from ear to ear, but my lips remained pressed together tightly. I didn't want to be reminded of that, especially not now. "It was hardly making out, Oliver."
"No, no," he shook his head. "I'm not talking about at the bar. I'm talking about while we were dancing."
My eyes widened as I quickly turned my head to him. "We danced?"
"And made out," he finished, still grinning. Still looking so pleased.
Bringing my hands to my face, I groaned against them, my eyes fluttering closed. "I'm never drinking again," I proclaimed. "Last night was too much." Turning my attention to Oliver, my hands still up, I was hesitant before speaking again. "How did you end up - I mean ... why are you - "
"In your bed?"
I nodded.
He waved at me lightly. "Nothing happened, I assure you. I offered to take the floor, but somehow ended up next to you."
I was silent. I couldn't believe this was happening. I wasn't supposed to end up in bed with Oliver. I wasn't supposed to drink myself nearly to death and make out with him. I should have stayed in, as I always had.
"We pissed a lot of people off last night," he spoke up amidst the silence, his tone carrying a playfulness.
And the fun just continued to come.
"What do you mean?" I asked quietly, cringing at the thought of what he was implying.
He pursed his lips together, humming slightly as he extended a long finger, tapping on it with another. "Well, let's see... Blair thought our public displays of affection were, um... I think she said disgusting?"
