When I walked out of my room a little after nine, Kenton was at the top of the stairs, his foot on the top landing. His head turned, our eyes locked, and my body started to vibrate from the look in his eyes. I wouldn’t even call it hunger; it was more than that. His eyes took me in and his jaw started ticking.

I knew what he saw; I had on a black, strapless dress that formed to my body like a second skin. Black pumps wrapped around my ankles, lifting me up on four-inch spiked heels. My hair was up on top of my head with little pieces out framing my face. I had on minimal makeup but dark-red lipstick.

“H—” I started to greet him when he looked up at me again, but he opened the door to his room and slammed it closed behind him. I stood there for a second, and then I flipped off his closed door and made my way downstairs. When Tara arrived at the house ten minutes later, Kenton came barreling downstairs like a caveman.

Before I could get out the door and close it behind me, he pulled me inside by my hand, shut the door, and then kissed me. It was not a sweet kiss; it was rough, aggressive, and it left me panting. When his mouth left mine, his eyes were heated and still glued to my lips.

“It didn’t come off,” he mumbled. I had no clue what he was talking about as his thumb swiped my bottom lip. “Fuck!” His eyes came to mine, and I was frozen in place; all I could do was stare at him. “Why won’t your goddamn lipstick come off?”

“It’s smudge-proof,” I whispered, shaking my head out of my daze. I took a step back, and his eyes narrowed.

“I don’t like it,” he growled.

“What?”

“Your hair, those heels, and that mouth.” He shook his head then ran a hand though his already messy hair. “I don’t like it.”

My eyes narrowed and I opened the door. “Too f**king bad,” I snapped over my shoulder as I went down the porch steps. I opened the door to Tara’s car, getting in quickly and slamming it closed only to look up as he roared loud as f**k as I put on my seatbelt.

“So, what did you do to piss him off?” Tara asks, bringing me out of my thoughts once again.

“I have no clue. That man is confusing. One minute, he’s kissing me, and the next, he’s complaining about my lipstick.”

“What’s wrong with your lipstick?” Derik asks, joining us at the bar.

“No clue,” I repeat, giving him and Stan a hug.

“Good, ’cause you look hot and your lipstick is hotter,” Stan says, leaning across the bar to call the bartender over. I give him a small smile before going back to my drink.

“So how’s Mr. Rough and Rugged?” Derik asks, taking the beer Stan is handing him.

“Who?” I ask.

“You know, the guy from the emergency room,” he clarifies.

“That’s who doesn’t like her lipstick,” Tara adds out of nowhere.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Stan says with a knowing smile.

“What’s wrong with my lipstick?” I run my fingers over my lips, wishing now that I hadn’t worn it.

“Girl, you are not stupid. I don’t have a penis, but even I know that, when a man sees a woman who looks like you wearing red lipstick that makes her lips look even fuller, all he can think about is shoving something between them.”

“You did not just say that.” I frown at her.

“It’s the truth, girly,” Derik says.

Images of some of the women I have seen in Vegas, the ones who sell themselves, flash through my head, all of them with their bright-red lips and bedroom eyes.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” I stand and don’t even wait for Tara when she calls for me. I run into the bathroom and franticly wipe at my lips, trying to get the color off.

“Autumn, stop it. What are you doing?”

Tears spring to my eyes and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to fight them off. I wipe my mouth again and again, but the color won’t come off no matter what I do. Stupid smudge-proof lipstick!

“Autumn, please stop,” Tara says more quietly this time, her hands going to mine at my lips.

“I just want it off.”

“You know men will think the same thing whether you’re wearing lipstick or not. Some guys are assholes. You’re beautiful and sweet. Please don’t let something as stupid as lipstick f**k with our night out.”

I take a second and let her words sink in, and I let out a long breath. “Thank you,” I tell her, pulling the tissue away from my mouth.

“We’re friends, and that’s what friends do.”

It feels good to be friends with a woman, someone who knows what I’m going though, someone I can talk to about the stupid things like I’ve seen women on TV talk to each other about.

“Now, are you ready to finish our drinks?” she asks, making me smile.

“Yes,” I say immediately. I look in the mirror, quickly making sure I look okay before following her out of the bathroom.

When we reach the bar, Derik and Stan have disappeared.

“Do you see them anywhere?” Tara asks, stretching to try to see over the crowd on the dance floor.

“No.” I look around, but there are so many people here that I can’t even move without bumping into someone. “Oh wait, I think I see them.” I grab Tara’s hand and start to lead her through the crowd to where I think I spotted Stan and Derik.

I look back over my shoulder when she stops dead in her tracks, causing me to teeter in my heels. I start to ask her what’s wrong, when she yells at the top of her lungs, “I love this f**king song!” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at her. The song is ‘Sexy and I Know It,’ and as much as people like the song, I really doubt anyone actually loves it.

When she starts dancing, I can’t hold it in and start to laugh. Her long, blond hair is flying all over. Her face is a mask of concentration and her hands almost look like she’s doing the hand jive.

“Dance with me!” She throws her hands in the air and spins around, closing her eyes.

I look around, seeing that everyone around me is dancing; no one is even watching what Tara’s doing. I start to move my h*ps a little, but apparently that’s not enough for Tara, who grabs both of my hands and starts spinning me around with her.

“Tara, stop!” I yell as we fly around in circles. My feet are barely keeping me upright.

“Stop being a party pooper and dance, bitch!” she yells back at me. Without warning, she lets my hands go and starts wiggling all over the place.

I laugh but join her wiggling, and then I bump my hip with hers when the song changes to Ke$ha’s ‘Your Love is My Drug.’ We start jumping around, throwing our hands in the air, and spinning in circles.

I’m laughing so hard and having so much fun that I don’t even realize that I’m in the middle of a giant crowd of people and they’ve all stopped to watch us. When the song ends, we both stop immediately and look around.

“Rock on!” Tara yells, making me lower my head and whisper a quiet, “Oh my God,” to myself. “You only live once. Fuck it,” Tara says, shrugging before grabbing my hand and pulling me with her to the bar.

“Hey, there’s Derik.” I point to the other side of the bar, where Derik and Stan are sitting, both of them with large smiles on their faces.

“You two looked—”

“Crazy, I know,” I cut him off, taking the bottle of water from his hand and drinking it in large gulps.

“I was gonna say hot, girl,” Derik corrects with a laugh. “Happiness is a good look on you, kid,” he tells me, pulling me into his side.

I take a breath, realizing that I am happy—really fricking happy.

“You want another drink?” Tara asks, calling the bartender over.

“I don’t know.” I look around at all the people who are having a good time and then out on the dance floor at all the people still dancing and laughing. Screw it. I want to live a little. “What are we drinking?”

“How about tequila?”

“Never had it.” I shrug, watching as the bartender makes his way towards us.

“Seriously?” Tara asks, looking at me with wide eyes.

“Seriously,” I repeat.

“Okay, you have to have a shot.”

“Why?”

“You are not an adult until you’ve had tequila,” she tells me, her voice all serious.

“Is this a rule?” I ask with a smile as she gives the bartender our order.

“One of many.” She looks at me and smiles. “Body shots are another, but we’ll get to that another time.”

“I’m never doing body shots.” I roll my eyes at her.

“A couple shots of tequila and you will do a whole lot you never thought you would.” She hands me a little glass of clear liquid and a wedge of lime. “Lick your hand,” she instructs. I do, and she picks up a saltshaker, dumping some onto my hand. “Lick it, shoot it, suck it.” She nods, and I shake my head but follow her directions.

The salt is grainy on my tongue as I close my eyes and shoot back the tequila. The cool liquid burns down my throat, making me gasp for air. My hand is suddenly shoved towards my face and I cram the whole piece of lime in my mouth, pressing it up against the roof of my mouth, and then I chew on it to try to get rid of some of the heat.

I open my eyes when I hear laughing, and I pull the lime out of my mouth and look around. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not supposed to eat the whole lime.” Tara laughs and Stan shakes his head, smiling. “Watch me, and then you’re going to do it again.”

“Okay.” I watch as she does exactly what I did, but in the end, she just puts the fleshy part of the lime into her mouth.

“Voila,” she says, taking a bow. “Now, it’s your turn.”

“Okay, but this is the last one,” I tell her, taking the salt from her hand while she gets the tequila from the bartender. I do the shot just like she did, the burn filling my chest as I shove the lime between my lips. “Holy cow,” I breathe out.

“Now, let’s dance!” she shouts, and before I can tell her yes or no, she’s dragging me out onto the dance floor.

*

“Oh God, kill me now,” I moan, covering my face. My head feels like it’s going to explode, my stomach feels like a million bubbles have taken up home in it, and my body feels like it’s been run over by a sixteen-wheeler.

“Go back to sleep,” a male voice that sounds like Kenton’s says and my body goes rigid.

Praying I’m wrong, I peek out from between my fingers. Nope, not wrong. What the hell happened last night?

“What are you doing here?” I ask, not sure I want to know, seeing how I’m wearing nothing but a sheet, his body is na**d at least from the waist up, and his arm is draped across my stomach, his frame plastered to the length of mine.

“Sleep.” He squeezes my waist and my stomach slightly contracts.

I try to remember last night, but my brain is coming up with nothing. My whole night is blank after my second shot of tequila.

“Stop thinking and sleep.”

“I have to get up,” I tell him, trying to lift his giant arm. My body feels so weak that I stop trying after a couple of seconds.

“You were up all night. You just went to bed two hours ago. You need to sleep. I need to sleep, so stop moving around.”

My eyes widen when I realize that his very evident erection is pressed up against my leg. “I can’t remember anything,” I tell him, covering my face.

“Seeing how you drank a shit-ton of tequila last night, that’s not surprising,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Please don’t say that word.” I shake my head. Just the thought of that drink alone has my body ready to revolt. “How did I get home?”

“I’ll tell you every embarrassing detail from the time you texted me until now when we wake up later.”

“Oh God, I texted you?” I groan.

“You did. Now, go to sleep.”

“I feel sick.”

“You have nothing left if your stomach,” he says on a sigh.

“What do you mean?”

“You were sick all night.”

“This just keeps getting better and better,” I whisper.

“Sleep, babe,” he says quietly as I feel his lips against the bare skin of my shoulder; the touch has my pulse picking up.

“Why am I na**d?” I ask, concentrating on the feeling between my legs. I sigh in relief when I don’t feel any tenderness or anything that would lead me to believe I did anything stupider than drink too much and send drunken texts.

“You were sick and I put you in the shower last night. I tried to give you a shirt, but you wouldn’t take it.”

“Oh,” I say, squeezing my eyes closed.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t see anything. Much,” he says quietly, and I can hear a smile in his voice.

“I’m never drinking again.”

“Why?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You had a good time. You just don’t know your limit. I will be having a talk with Tara. No way should she have given you shots of tequila on your first night out drinking.”

“You are not talking with Tara.” I shake my head, imagining him talking to her. I can see it now—it would be a lot of yelling and none of it nice.

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we’re going to sleep, and then later, we’re going to my Aunt Viv’s house for dinner.”

“Your aunt?” I shake my head in disbelief.