“I can’t believe this,” Ashton said as they cruised along Rodeo Drive. It was rididuclously touristy to head straight for the most famous street in the city, but neither of them cared. Los Angeles was worlds away from Washington D.C., and there wasn’t a suit in sight. “I can’t believe the girls here,” he added.

“Check that guy out,” Sean said as they passed Agent Provocateur. The hobbling old man was at least eighty, but a flawless blonde clutched his arm. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

Ashton laughed. “Man, we’re gonna own this city.”

Sean grinned at him. He didn’t exactly know how much Ashton made as a hedge fund manager, but given how they’d matched each other step for step, move for move, back in D.C., the salary was probably comparable to Sean’s trust fund.

For a month, they’d gone out every night. It was easier in Los Angeles than it was in D.C. Even though they’d known every single club, lounge, bar and underground scene that operated in D.C., there was always the sour air of judgment when you got shit faced on a Monday night—and that same stench didn’t exist in L.A.

There was a party every night. Red carpet events, debuts, the opening of some celebrity pop-up shot that nobody gave a shit about but the booze and girls always flowed.

It happened on a Tuesday. Ashton and Sean spilled out of a bar that, predictably, played ILoveMakeonnen’s “Tuesday” every thirty minutes. Ashton’s arm clutched Sean’s shoulder a little too tightly as he sought balance with the camaraderie.

“Yo! You guys comin’ over, right?” Sean couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but the 24-karat gold chain with the ridiculous marijuana leaves embedded with emeralds was familiar.

“Yeah, dude, text me the address,” Sean said. He could hear the slur in his voice, but nobody seemed to care. He laughed into the California night sky that had started to turn pink with morning.

“Fuck, Sean, you been there enough,” the guy said, but he pulled out one of his phones to send it.

“Hey, man,” Ashton said as they piled into his Landaulet. “For real, I gotta be in the office in three hours.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sean said. He watched Ashton make a messy line on the thick, custom steering wheel and snort it without giving a damn about the dust that fell to the floorboard.

“You bump?” Ashton asked, as always. Sean just shook his head and raised the flask of whiskey he’d tucked into the glove compartment. He never liked to chase a good drunk with coke. He’d tried a few times, but coke just wasn’t his thing—it had nothing on liquor. Ashton needed help staying up, functional, act like he wasn’t a coked up, highly functional alcoholic at the office.

“You seriously gonna go into the office like that? You know this dude’s place always reeks of weed,” Sean said.

“Hey, man, we can’t all afford to get art degrees and roll into a part-time gig at a tattoo parlor at four in the afternoon,” Ashton said. There wasn’t any judgment in his tone, though. He made another line and straightened it up with a girl’s hair barrette abandoned on the console.

Sean closed his eyes while he listened to Ashton’s tight, strong snorts. The feel of the leather on his triceps and the sounds of early morning L.A. nearly lulled him to sleep. This is how it had been since college. Ashton at the wheel, energizing up before they transitioned to a house party. Sean at the ready, shotgun, as long swallows of whiskey purred down his throat.

“How many you had tonight?” Ashton asked as he revved the engine and pulled away from the curb.

“Fuck you care for?” Sean asked. He opened his eyes and looked over at Ashton, who gripped the steering wheel like it was a life boat.

Ashton shrugged. “Just askin’,” he said. “Tell me the address.”

Sean pulled out his phone and opened the blinking text app. The numbers and words swirled before his eyes. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d had the spins. “You don’t remember where this dude lives?” he asked.

“No, do you?” Ashton asked pointedly. Sean felt the SUV snake over the wake-up bumps on the highway and smiled. The shake felt comforting, a reminder of how alive he was.

“North Curson, you know where that is?” Sean asked.

“Put it in the GPS,” Ashton said. Sean glanced at the touch screen, inches from Ashton’s white-knuckled hands.

The rumble strip growled below the tires again and Sean heard a horn wail as they raced by. “Slow down!” he said. “You’re gonna get us fucking pulled over, man.”

“I am not,” Ashton said. “Just do the GPS. Cops don’t think anyone’s out partying on a Wednesday morning, there’s no speed traps.”

A flash of worry and fear trickled into Sean. He took a long pull on the flask to drown it. Ashton was right, cops weren’t looking for partiers in the middle of the week. If anything, they’d think they were tired from an early morning commute. He looked at Ashton. The coke had woken him wildly up. He could totally pass as sober, albeit high-strung. And besides, it’s totally legal for the passenger to be drunk.

But still … what if they drug tested Ashton? Wasn’t coke worse than alcohol? Fuck, who knew the laws here? “Hey, you want me to drive?” Sean asked. It seemed like the Audi they flew past was dangerously close.

Ashton laughed. “No, mom, I’m fine,” he said. “Finish your whiskey, dude, you’re starting to sound like an old lady. And tell me the goddamned directions, you’re going to put us in the valley or some shit.”

Now that was good advice. Sean took another pull of the whiskey and focused intently on the Google Maps app on his phone. No way in hell was he going to try and work Ashton’s complicated built-in GPS system. The images whorled before his eyes and he messed up repeatedly. “Fuck, what did I say the street number was again?” he asked.

Ashton groaned. “Seriously, by the time you get us there I’m gonna have to drop your drunk ass off and go straight to work.”

“You say that now, but that’s before you see what kind of THOTs turn up,” Sean said. He thought he sounded particularly wise.

“You know my weakness,” Ashton said. He turned the radio up with the controls on the steering wheel and rolled down the windows.

“What the fuck?” Sean asked, but the wind on his face was soothing. It whipped the heat the alcohol made him radiate off his skin.

Ashton lifted his head and howled into the night. Sean lolled his head to watch and laughed. He joined in and their combined voices wailed into the night. But when he glanced at the speedometer, it looked like it was well over the 100 mark.

“Ashton, seriously, you gotta slow down,” he said.

“Jesus Christ, Sean. What the hell is your problem? Why are you being such a goddamned prick tonight? I’m the one who has a real job I have to go to.” Real anger clouded Ashton’s voice, but he wouldn’t look at Sean.

“My problem?” Sean asked, amazed. His emotions overpowered the whiskey-flavored haze. “How about that I don’t want to go to fucking jail just because you’re driving like a lunatic? Slow the fuck down.”

“Fuck you, Sean,” Ashton said coldly. “You know, I don’t even know why we’re still friends.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sean asked. Soberness shot through him and steadied his vision. He looked at the speedometer again, 110.

Ashton laughed. “You’d like to know, right? Okay, here it is. I’ve been fucking Bren. Or, to put it more accurately, she’s been fucking me. She fucking begs for it.”

Sean’s heart sank. He didn’t love Bren. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he liked her. But she was his girl, and had been since they’d arrived. He’d met her on one of their first nights out, mesmerized by her lips that suckled the long cigarette outside The Sayers Club. “Bullshit,” he said, though he knew it was true.

“Bullshit my ass,” Ashton said. “You know it’s true. What, does that do something for you or something? You like being a cuckold?”

“Stop being a dick, man,” Sean said. He looked away and tried to shrug it off.

“You want proof?” Ashton asked. It felt like the car sped up again. “She’s got a birthmark shaped like a horseshoe on her ass and waxes her pubes into a little heart.”

Sean’s face began to burn.

“And when she sucks cock she stares at you the entire time,” Ashton continued. “But she wants you to come on her tits. You really gotta hold that bitch’s head for her to swallow.”

Sean’s heart started to pound, heavy and fast. There was only one way Ashton would know that.

“But … from what she told me?” Ashton said. “She likes it. Likes being demeaned. Look at my phone if you still don’t believe me. She sends me nudes all the time. Last one was just a couple hours ago. You know we fucked on your bed once? I can’t believe you gave that bitch a key.”

“You fucking asshole,” Sean said. He turned on Ashton, who had a smile plastered across his face.

“Guess what?” Ashton said, and raised his brows as he nodded ahead.

Sean faced forward just as Ashton blew through a red light.

The tractor trailer raced towards them, and somehow the sunrise was at their feet. We’re flipping, Sean thought. Fuck. Did I put the lid back on the flask?