Donāt sleep with your best friend. Take it from me. I did it. And it was awfulāI-wish-the-tequila-made-me-forget kind of bad.
The problem is, Luke has forgotten. He swears that he canāt remember a thing about that night beyond the trays of tequila shots being set on the tables. But I can't forget. I canāt forget how good his hands felt until I fell over and hit my hip on the dresser, and I sure as hell canāt forget the entire two minutes.
Itās 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 heās the worst guy youāve ever slept with.
And that makes having tequila on my birthday a very, very bad idea...