Urgent-sounding noises wake me, but my eyes feel like they are glued together, so I don’t even attempt to lift my heavy lids.
“Where the f**k is she, Finn?” Jackson asks.
“I don’t know, Jackson. Last time I saw her you were hauling her arse off the bar. I thought you had her,” Finn replies icily.
“No, she yelled at me and then stormed off.” I can hear the worry creeping into Jackson’s voice.
“Well, she probably disappeared in here then,” Finn replies with an exasperated sigh.
The door creaks open.
“Holy s**t!” Jackson exclaims, and I’m guessing he is taking in the sight of me passed out with half a bottle of tequila cradled to my chest like a prized possession. I try to open my eyes, move, or say something, but my body won’t respond. That is until I projectile vomit all over the floo
