Page 99 of Tell Me I'm Enough

Erik’s voice softens. “It’s okay, you were drunk. I’ve seen worse texts from sober people.”

I snort. “Doubt it.”

Bits and pieces of last night start coming back in flashes.

The Gala, Simone, that beautiful dress, her laughing under the dim lights. Then the Kappa dickhead, me wanting to kick his ass.

I swallow, jaw tightening.

Then it all kind of…smears together—random flashes of dancing, girls in sequined dresses, some chick handing me her high heels so she could dance better, Tank talking shit, Chase yanking my arm, getting put in the car, Simone’s hand in my hair.

I cringe at the thought of how pathetic I must’ve looked.

“Memory coming back?” Bash asks.

“Unfortunately,” I say, dropping the phone onto my chest.

“I can’t move,” I mutter.

“Sad story,” he says, deadpanned. “Do I need to go find a tiny violin?”

I flip him off and force myself to sit up. My head feels like someone is trying to carve their initials into my skull with a butter knife.

“Go slow, man,” Erik says. “You stand up too fast, and you’re gonna be kissing the floor.”

I swing my legs over the edge and brace my elbows on my knees, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

I look down, hoping to see Simone’s name, but it’s just the guys for the Sig house group chat talking about last night.

A wave of dread hits me harder than the hangover.

“What?” Bash asks.

I shake my head. “I was…with Simone last night. I have no idea how bad I made it. I feel like I ruined the night for her.”

Bash nods slowly. “So…text her.”

I look down at my phone, thumbs hovering over her name. I barely know what I said or did. I don’t know what to do other than apologize for the whole night.

I groan and start typing.

Mason: I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to ruin your night or be such a shitty date.

Bash nods towards the door. “Come on, hungover Ken doll. Get ready, take some Advil, and let’s go get food. In that order.”

“Jesus,” I mumble, standing up slowly.

Bash raises a brow. “Careful calling his name. He might show up.”

I roll my eyes and hold onto the dresser until the spinning settles.

I huff out a laugh. “If Jesus can take hangover headaches away, I’ll sign whatever contract he wants.”

Erik grins. “That’s not exactly how it works, but noted.”

I grab a hoodie off the floor, sniff it, decide it’s passable, and toss it on.