I wake up with my head pounding and my stomach lurching.

Oh, God.

What happened last night? I mean, besides the obvious, because I know a hangover when I wake up in the throes of one. I hope we have some ginger ale in the fridge. Garrett always says—

Garrett!

I sit up. Both my head and my stomach register formal complaints, in triplicate.

Garrett’s sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, looking at me with an expression I can’t read. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” I pull the sheet up almost to my neck, because I’m naked here.

I’m naked under this bazillion-thread-count sheet. Holy shit. Holy shit. We….

I look around the room. My clothes are strewn around in a manner that suggests I basically tossed them off.

Did we— I think about it for a second, hard.

We did.

Ohmygod, ohmygod. Did we ever.

I feel myself blush beet-red, and when I look at him again, I’m relieved that at least his cheeks, right at the top, are pink, too.

“Did we?” I have to ask, even though I know the answer. Maybe I imagined it. But I’m not imagining the faint ache between my legs. I know what we did.

He hesitates, and then nods. “We did. I’m sorry.”

I vaguely remember arguing with him, and him dragging me out of Club Havana. “Did you do a shot off my stomach?”

The pink in his cheeks turn to red. “I did. I was pretty drunk, too. Please tell me you don’t feel like … you know, like I forced you? Or took advantage?”

My mouth drops open in horror. “Garrett. Oh my God, Garrett, no. Never. No. I’m just … the details are a little fuzzy, but I swear to you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

He nods a little, relief clear on his face. “Okay. Okay, Beck. I’d die before I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry,” I tell him. I’m not sorry. Maybe we even—

“This was a big mistake.”

Oh.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.

“I mean— Beck, this was— You’re great.” He’s practically stammering. “But we’re friends. Best friends. You’re, like … oh my god, Beck, you’re the most important person to me. This is just all wrong.”

All wrong? Really? I feel like what he’s saying is what’s all wrong, like there’s a really important piece he’s missing—a piece we’re both missing. But my head is killing me. I can’t think straight.

He’s right about one thing, for sure: we’re friends. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I don’t want to screw that up.

And, of course, it’s worth remembering that he’s also Garrett. Four to six weeks till expiration, I remind myself.

Friends are forever. Am I willing to lose my best friend so I can have great sex for a month or two?

He runs a hand through his hair. “I had a lot to drink. That’s no excuse, and I’m so angry with myself, but I’m just saying. I drank too much and I just … forgot that you’re like my sister.”

Ick. I say nothing, just thinking for a moment about how gross that sounds.

“Beck?”

“Yeah,” I say, faintly. “Big mistake. I’m so glad you think so. I’m sorry, too.” And for the first time since he kissed me last night, I am sorry.

“It won’t change anything, right?”

“No,” I say. “No, of course not. Let’s just forget about it. We’re still best friends.”

There’s an unspoken but in there, but I’m too scared to say it. Maybe because I’m not sure how I want it to end. Maybe the things I’m thinking aren’t so crazy. Maybe I’ve always felt more for Garrett than I admitted. Maybe Sam was right.

Oh my God. Did I just internalize what Sam said, and then act on it to make myself feel better? Did I sleep with Garrett because stupid Sam told me I loved the guy, because I didn’t want Sam to have dumped me for no reason? And what if I lose Garrett forever because I thought for one crazy night that I wanted something more with him? Because I got drunk and forgot we’re just friends?

I clutch the blanket tighter around me and look back at him. “Best friends,” I say again. “I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

I feel tears well in my eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Garrett sees it, and his face grows concerned. “Beck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.” He takes my hand, and there’s no zing there, like there was when he touched me last night. There’s just nothing. “It’s going to be okay,” he says.

“Will it?” I manage. How I speak without tears falling down my face, I don’t know, but I’m grateful to whatever god of stupid drunk girls is looking after me so I don’t look like a complete fucking loser.

“Of course it will. It happened, and it was—” He stops, and something crosses his face, an expression that I can’t read. Then it’s replaced by a cheerful expression I can tell isn’t real. “But it won’t happen again.”

There’s an ache dead center in my chest, a hollow spot that feels a lot like not being able to breathe. But I’m breathing. “So,” I say, “we both agree, just this once? Just a slip, and we’ll put it behind us?”

“Just this once.” He leans over and puts his arms around me—but this is not like the way he held me last night, or even like the hugs he’s given me before last night. This is shallow, his arms around my shoulders but the rest of him not touching me, and he pulls away quickly. “This isn’t going to change anything. We won’t let it, will we?”

I shake my head. “No.”

This is so weird, and it’s so heartbreaking, and I don’t even know why. But I just have to get through this, and we’ll go back to the way we were. And everything will be fine.

“Okay, then. So….” He looks down and takes a breath, looks back up at me. “What about Brianna and Levi?”

“What about them?”

“I was just thinking that maybe we don’t need to tell them about this.”

Wow. I didn’t think I could feel worse than I already do, but that just goes to show that I’m an idiot. I feel like absolute garbage right now.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

He looks at me with horror. “God, Beck. No. That’s … no.”

“Then what?”

“Total honesty?” He shrugs a little. “I’m ashamed of myself. I think you had a lot to drink—”

“I knew what I was doing—”

“And I don’t want them to make a big deal about it. You know they will. And they’ll nag us both to death about what it means and … you know. You don’t need that shit.”

I nod. “Maybe you’re right,” I say slowly. “They might not understand—”

“And since it’s never going to happen again—”

“Right,” I say. “Never again.”

He pats my hand awkwardly, gets up, and moves toward the door. “Thanks, Beck.”

“For what?” I mean, honestly. For what? What a weird thing to say.

“For being my best friend. I’ll see you later, at brunch? Why don’t you get some sleep—you had a rough night.”

He flashes a half-smile and, just like that, he’s back to being the Garrett I’ve always known. The guy who looks out for me and loves me like a sister. You had a rough night, he says, as though he wasn’t the one who had that night with me.

And then the door closes behind him.

I lie back on the bed, and let the tears leak out. I have no idea why I’m crying, but I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it.

Which, thankfully, it does not. Because I start to cry in earnest—and boy, do I need to cry.

I try not to think about last night. Whatever happened last night was last night. And now it’s morning, and last night is over. But that just makes me cry harder.

There’s a knock on the door. I wrap the sheet around me and practically fly out of bed to answer it. He came back. He—

But it’s Brianna on the other side. She’s smiling when I pull the door open, but as soon as she gets a look at my face, her smile disappears.

“Beck, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel well,” I say, for lack of anything better. “Hangover.”

“Sure, and pigs’ll fly directly out of my ass,” she says. “Any second now. Why are you crying?”

I stomp back and throw myself on the bed. “Can’t I just have a hangover?”

“You can have a hangover every day and twice on Sunday,” she says, climbing up to sit cross-legged on the bed beside me, “but lying to me is unacceptable. Why are you crying?”

I think about Garrett not wanting Brianna to know, and I wonder how much of that is wanting to protect me, and how much is self-preservation—even if he doesn’t realize it.

Either way, you know what? Fuck that.

I sit up, look Brianna in the eye, and tell her everything.

Well, almost everything. I leave out the part where my heart is breaking.