Donât sleep with your best friend. Take it from me. I did it. And it was awfulâI-wish-the-tequila-made-me-forget kind of bad.
The problem is, Luke has forgotten. He swears that he canât remember a thing about that night beyond the trays of tequila shots being set on the tables. But I can't forget. I canât forget how good his hands felt until I fell over and hit my hip on the dresser, and I sure as hell canât forget the entire two minutes.
Itâs awkward, embarrassing, and the new subject of a couple of dirty lucid dreams. But I have no intention of telling him what we did. Nothing good comes from telling your best friend heâs the worst guy youâve ever slept with.
And that makes having tequila on my birthday a very, very bad idea...