“Emily, seriously. How many glasses of wine are you planning to drink tonight?” Andrew frowns at the sixth glass I’ve already downed since he decided to be my date.

“As many as I want,” I reply dryly, pouring myself a seventh.

“Oh, man… This dinner is going to wreck my wallet,” he sighs, looking dejected.

“Why?” I take a swig from the glass.

“Do you even know how much one of these bottles costs?” He gestures toward the two empty bottles of white wine on the table.

“Jeez, relax. I can pay for my own drinks and dinner,” I scoff, letting the cool liquid slide down.

“Who were you supposed to meet tonight?” He changes the topic, spooning a bite of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

“Lucas.”

“Who’s that?” He scowls.

“A friend.”

He hesitates. “Are you two… dating?”

Is he serious? I’ve literally just told him Lucas is a friend. 

“Do you know what the word friend means?” I snort, sipping the eighth glass—I might even break my record tonight, which is sixteen.

“Dylan was your friend…” He trails off.

Why is he bringing up Dylan now?

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. “So?” 

“Why did you break up?” he pries.

“You can tell me the truth, dude. Are you in love with me, or with Dylan?” I joke, the alcohol in me giving me enough nerve to blurt it out.

“Excuse me?” he gasps, his eyes widening.

“Why do you keep asking about Dylan Fuller?” I press, arching an eyebrow.

“Because I’m curious what happened between you two,” he replies. 

I stare at him flatly. “Your answer is frustratingly vague. You know, for someone who owns a chain of coffee shops, you’re not exactly poetic.” I snort.

“What? What does owning a chain of coffee shops have to do with being poetic?” He laughs.

“I don’t know. Whatever. I’m drunk.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “So, what happened with Dylan Fuller?”

“Dylan turned out to be an asshole, to say the least,” I respond, shivering as I remember all the crap that idiot put me through.

“How come?” Andrew furrows his eyebrows, concern flickering across his otherwise perfect face.

“You’re too nosy,” I mutter, draining my glass and asking the waitress for another bottle.

“You’re too rude,” he smirks, his adorable smile reminding me of his charm back when we were teenagers.

“Feel free to leave the table,” I clap back, shoving the last spoonful of vanilla ice cream into my mouth, though it looks more like soup by now—too much alcohol and courage have been consumed to care about the rest of the night with my date.

Andrew Keegan is my date. My date. Kyaaa!

“I would never leave you alone, Emily.” He points an accusatory finger at me. “Mainly because you’re flushed and squirmy; not to mention a little tipsy.”

“Pfft.” I wave him off. “As if. You haven’t seen me drunk yet, Keegan.”

The waitress places the bottle of wine on the table, making my eyes light up. However, Andrew snatches it away before I can touch it, holding it just out of reach and narrowing his eyes. “I’m not letting you drink another drop until you tell me what Dylan did to you,” he declares.

“Are you blackmailing me?” I gape at him.

“Yep.”

An audible groan escapes me as I close my eyes for a moment, reopening them to focus on the man I happen to be mentally undressing. Well, in my imagination, he is certainly big and thick. Will it fit in me?

“Emily?” Andrew tilts his head to the side, amused.

“Huh?” I snap out of my trance, shoving the dirty thoughts away.

“What did Dylan do to you?” he repeats for the third time—or is it the fourth?

“When I was sixteen, almost seventeen, I lost my virginity to Dylan. A few days later, I found out he had bet his friends on my innocence. Guess what? He won. And to celebrate, he cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend,” I scoff, not caring that Andrew looks shocked. “That son of a jerk was the perfect boyfriend—until he wasn’t.”

A heavy silence falls. My date seems busy processing my story, wide-eyed, so I take the opportunity to snatch the bottle back and pour myself a glass before he can react.

“Dylan Fuller is a real douche,” Andrew asserts.

“You can say that again,” I agree, nodding.

“What about Lucas? What’s his story?” He takes the drink from my hand and sips. I purse my lips, resisting the urge to tell him off because he has his own glass right in front of him. 

“I’m not going there,” I state dryly while shaking my head and already fishing my wallet out of my purse, ready to call it a night.

Andrew sighs and asks the waiter for the check, which arrives a few minutes later.

“I’m paying for my food and drinks.” I slide all my cash onto the table.

Ignoring me, Andrew hands his card to the waiter, who hurries off to the register.

“Take the money, then,” I groan, pushing the bills toward him.

“Thanks, but I don’t want your money.” He slides the notes back.

“Ugh, fine!” I grab the cash and toss it at him.

“Emily, stop it,” he scolds, like I’m a misbehaving child.

I glare and give him the middle finger. “Go—to—hell.”

“No wonder you’re single,” he teases, picking up the scattered money.

“Go to hell,” I repeat, rising to my feet and walking out of the restaurant without looking back. The only problem, though, is that I can barely see where I’m going; on top of that, gravity seems determined to remind me of its power.

“Emily, wait,” Andrew calls, prompting me to stumble faster—or at least try to.

Needless to say, I fall, landing hard on my butt. “Damn you, Isaac Newton,” I curse, blaming the laws of physics for my humiliation.

“Are you all right?” Andrew is crouched beside me in an instant, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to help me stand—a task that takes a couple of attempts. “Let’s take the subway and go home,” he adds, guiding me toward the nearest station.

“What about your car?” I slur.

“I had a few drinks, too, so the subway’s safer,” he explains.

I nod and let him lead the way, too dizzy and tipsy to argue, letting my torpor guide my steps as much as Andrew does.

* * *

“Andrew Keegan?” 

Charlie’s shocked voice startles me, and suddenly I feel like I’ve woken from a deep, distant dream.

“Charlie,” Andrew whispers.

“What are you doing? Mily, is that you?” Charlie ‘rescues’ me from Andrew’s warm embrace, guiding me to sit on the couch.

“What happened to you?” Hansel appears out of nowhere, plopping down next to me and holding my face between his hands. “Did Andrew drug you?”

“Hey,” Andrew interjects immediately, stepping into the apartment uninvited.

“What is Emily doing with you?” Charlie turns to him, dragging my teenage nightmare into the present.

All I can think about is that they’re probably going to start dating again—and that everything I drank and ate earlier might come back up at any moment. Ew. Ew. Ew.

“I’m Emily’s date,” Andrew declares nonchalantly, drawing audible gasps from my friends.

“Date?” Faith kneels in front of me, holding a glass of water.

“A douche named Lucas didn’t show up for their dinner, so I stepped in and saved the night,” Andrew remarks, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, approaching me cautiously. “She had way too many drinks at the restaurant.”

“How did you know Lucas didn’t show up? Did Mily call you or something?” Hansel asks, confused.

“I happened to be at the restaurant at the same time,” Andrew explains.

“You need to drink some water, Mily,” Faith urges, tilting the glass so that I can sip the cold liquid.

“Mily doesn’t get drunk easily, which means she had more than ten drinks,” Charlie points out, glaring at Andrew, who has otherwise been nothing but a sweetheart.

“It’s not Andrew’s fault,” I rush to defend him, even though it kind of is. I mean, my nerves got the better of me when he declared himself my date at the restaurant, and I practically drank my weight in alcohol.

“You heard the lady,” Andrew says, smiling smugly.

“What are you doing here in New York?” Charlie presses, her eyes glued to him.

“I live here.”

“Why?” She steps closer to him like a Puma stalking its prey.

Hansel is the one who explains, “Andrew owns AK Café and lives in this building.”

“Really?” Charlie gasps. 

Even in my tipsy stupor, I see her brown eyes light up with hope and joy as she smiles broadly at Andrew, who stays silent.

“That’s fantastic. It means we can hang out together again,” she exclaims, throwing her arms around his neck and planting several quick kisses on his cheek.

“I’m going to my bedroom,” I mumble, my stomach churning at the inevitable scene.

“Let me help you,” Faith offers, ready to guide my jelly legs through the obstacles to my room.

“Andrew is my date; therefore, he’s the one helping me tonight,” I say, pointing at an amused Andrew.

“My date has spoken,” he jokes, his arms instantly replacing Faith’s around me.

He carries me into my bedroom, placing me on the bed without a care as I curl under the covers and pull him with me.

“Please, stay with me until I fall asleep,” I mumble, yawning.

“Of course, Emily. You’re the boss.” He sits on the edge of the bed, brushing his knuckles against my cheek.

The last thing I remember before closing my eyes is Andrew’s warm, beautiful smile, his gaze fixed on me making me feel like my teenage dream has finally come true.

* * *

I wake up the next morning to someone whispering in my ear, “Good morning, my little drunk roommate.”

“What?” I open one eye and wince as a throbbing pain shoots through my head. “Ouch,” I whine, feeling cranky as hell.

“Coffee?” Hansel hands me a mug, which, by the way, isn’t the one I stole from Andrew’s café.

“Where’s my mug?” I ask, struggling to sit up on the bed.

“I couldn’t find it anywhere.” He shrugs.

“But it’s right over the—” I stop mid-sentence, realizing it’s not on the bedside table where it usually sits.

“I swear, I searched everywhere but couldn’t find it,” Hansel insists.

“Damn you, Andrew Keegan,” I yell, shaking my right fist in the air as the memory clicks. That bastard must have taken his mug back last night when he had access to my room.

* * *