I’ve never been so mortified in my life, and this damned hangover isn’t helping.

As I trudge down the country road that leads away from Climax Vineyards, my stomach contorts into woozy, Gumby-like shapes. I try to call my sister for about the billionth time, but evidently it’s too early for Goodtime Gracie to rise and shine. There’s no way I’m waking up Mom, who needs to catch up on sleep more than I even do, so I consider calling a Lyft to see if someone, anyone, even that crazy mountain-man-with-humping-monkeys-on-his-dashboard Dirk Molony, is available to shuttle me home. Otherwise, it’ll be a long walk of shame.

It feels like cotton is all up in my mouth, and a slick boogeyman is creeping around my head, stomping and slamming and screaming until my temples ache. I fire off another text to Grace, knowing that she went to the Footloose Saloon last night and probably stayed out way late. Not that I can judge her for that — at least she didn’t pass out and wind up in a strange bed with some guy she hardly knows. At least, I think Quinn was in that bed with me, because the covers on the other side were wrinkled as if he’d been sleeping on top of them before leaving the room. And if he slept on top of the covers and not below them, then that means Quinn and I didn’t …

Yeah, I’m sure we didn’t, even if my jeans were on the floor when I woke up. I don’t feel like I got a ride on the wanker express, if you know what I mean. My skin and muscles don’t have that afterglow rawness or ache, and my little pink bus sure doesn’t feel as if it took a trip anywhere.

I suspect that sex with Quinn would’ve been pretty great to recall if it actually happened.

But even if we didn’t get it on, what the hell was I doing last night? Go out and have some wine, Gwen! Cut loose a little and unpucker that puckered pussy, girl! How everlovin’ stupid was I last night?

I pull my jacket around me in the brisk morning air and walk a little faster past the expanse of Climax’s vineyards. When my phone rings, I startle and wince at the sound. At first I think it’s Grace and, oh man, if it is, I’m never going to hear the end of the teasing about how I never came home last night …. Then it finally enters my hangover-thickened head that I’m not hearing my sister’s ringtone at all. It’s a generic ring, and when I see Quinn’s name on the screen, I make a ngggg sound.

I should really answer this, because I’ll bet if I don’t, he’ll hop in his big old red truck and find me out here wandering like a morning-after refugee.

I put on the speakerphone, then work some spit around in my mouth so I can talk. “Hello?”

“Gwen.” He sounds like maybe I’ve insulted him by taking off without a word. Can’t blame him there. “Where are you?”

“Gone.”

“I figured that out pretty quickly. The question is: where did you go?”

“I had to get home.” This dry mouth is awful. If my mind had been more functional when I left that guesthouse, I would’ve drunk more water than I did when I stuck my head under the kitchen sink faucet and gulped down as much as I could stand.

“Hell, Gwen, I would’ve driven you home.” Then, after a pause, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“It depends on your definition of ‘okay.’ My head feels as bad as Milton’s kitchen looked after the fire. Also, I woke up in a bed I’ve never woken up in before, with ample evidence that a guy I barely know slept in it too.”

“I stayed on top of the covers.”

At the verification of that, I do a mild fist pump, then keep walking. I need more confirmation that nothing foolish went on before I get happier. “If you stayed on top of the covers, then why was I in my underwear?”

“Hold up. Since I didn’t see anything else besides your jeans, jacket, and boots on the ground, I’m assuming you were wearing your top and your panties.” He laughs quietly. “Goldilocks, I didn’t lay a finger on you. After you passed out, you briefly woke up from your drunken stupor in a total fit, wrestled off your jeans, then fell right back to sleep. I was a gentleman and didn’t peek beneath the covers to see what you had on for sure.”

I give a tiny little hop of pure relief, then cringe at the sharp pain digging through my head. Still … yay! Then I remember something that has me completely stopping in my tracks.

A candlelit memory of my mouth lightly touching Quinn’s mouth, a bright, soft moment that has the blood humming through my body and … then I can’t remember anything else.

I think I kissed him before I passed out.

As I start walking again, I’m extra mortified. God, I hope he doesn’t mention a kiss.

“I was going to take you home last night instead of putting you in that bed,” he says, “but I have no idea where you live. I couldn’t even call your sister because I didn’t know the passcode for your phone.”

After remembering that kiss, my defenses are up again. “You could’ve asked anyone in town where I live.”

“At midnight? Darlin’, even I have more manners than to go knocking on doors at that hour.”

“There’s this thing called ‘the Internet,’ where Grace’s number is no doubt readily available. Also, you could’ve checked the walls on numerous bathroom stalls around town.”

He laughs. Isn’t he tired of me yet, especially after last night? He wasn’t the one drinking like an idiot, and the sooner he goes back to being all cool with me, the better.

“Good to see that a hangover hasn’t killed that snark,” he says.

Does he have to be so easygoing? I sigh and look ahead at the empty road. I can see Main Street in the near distance. I know I’m being a crabby, hungover jerk, so I soften up. He was really decent to me. “I’m sorry for making a mess of things. I’m not used to drinking, and I obviously didn’t know my limits.”

“I should’ve said something as soon as I saw you putting your wild woman hat on.”

“It’s not your responsibility to monitor me.” I think of my dad and how he drank himself to a violent death that took someone else out, too. Shame covers me because I lost my grip on myself. It won’t happen again.

Quinn has been quiet, and why not? What guy would want to babysit his date the entire night?

“At any rate, I appreciate all the effort you went through to entertain me.” I chew on my next words, then go ahead and spit them out. “In spite of my epic wine drinking fiasco, it really was a great time, Quinn. It’s the first fun I’ve had in ages.”

“I had a great time, too.” I can almost hear him smile over the line, and it’s that tattooed bad-boy smile that makes me wary while simultaneously gearing me up. “What do you say we give it another try?”

What? Like I wasn’t enough of a disaster the first time? “I don’t think so.” Then before he can take it the wrong way, I add, “Thanks for asking. It’s just that I’m not the dating type.” Obviously. I’d hate to see what kind of apocalyptic social ineptitude I could put him through next time because I have no idea how to handle myself when I’m alone with this guy.

Before he can respond, the Gwen from last night somehow takes me back over, and I say one more thing.

“But I do like your tattoos and great hair, Quinn.”

With an I can’t believe I said that gasp, I hang up and start walking faster toward Main Street, fighting a smile.