Warehouse Fire

Ben

Sunday had been a fuckup. I had been so hungover, I hadn’t been able to function. My head had felt like it was going to explode, and I had spent half the day hugging the toilet, vomiting out everything my stomach contained even after there was nothing left to get rid of. It was a lesson in self-control if I’d ever had one.

Moderation. I should have tried some.

I had texted Mila in the morning, but she hadn’t replied. That kiss had been bouncing around in my mind since the moment I had woken up, and I had felt like a bastard for doing that to her when we obviously couldn’t be more.

I didn’t even know if she felt anything for me. The passionate response I had gotten from her could very well have been the alcohol speaking. God knows she’d had as much as I’d had.

And if she was in any kind of physical shape as I was, she would have suffered as much too. Judging by her spectacular body, she was in great shape, which meant we had both been suffering.

I had been such an idiot drinking so