Val's pov
My head was pounding like someone had dropped a speaker on it and pressed play on "emotional damage" at full volume.
Where the hell was I?
I blinked twice. Maybe three times.
This wasn't my room.
These were not my pastel bedsheets.
This wasn't even my house.
There was a poster of an old rock band on the wall. A hockey stick leaned against a chair. A pile of jerseys on the floor. And the worst part?
There was a warm, half-naked body beside me.
My heart skipped an entire playlist.
I froze. Slowly… I turned my head.
And there he was.
Theo Dodge.
Sleeping. Shirtless. His toned chest rising and falling. Hair all messed up, like someone had been running their hands through it.
Someone like me.
And all he had on were gray sweat-shorts riding dangerously low on his hips.
Jesus Christ.
I looked down at myself. My silver party dress was wrinkled and twisted around my waist like it had been yanked halfway off and never recovered. One strap was broken. My legs were bare. I was—okay, yeah, I still had my clothes on technically but the state of them was telling a whole other story.
Panic.
Cold panic.
Nausea.
I dove under the blanket like it was a shield.
What happened last night?
Before I could even form a full sentence in my head, Theo stirred.
And then.
His arm moved.
Still asleep, he reached for me like it was muscle memory—his hand caught my wrist, tugged me gently, and next thing I knew, he'd rolled over and yanked me closer.
His palm splayed across my waist, pulling me flush against his bare chest. His breath was warm on my neck.
I couldn't breathe.
"Gotta pee," I whispered in a panic. "Gotta pee gotta pee—"
He mumbled something that sounded like "five more minutes, princess."
PRINCESS.
NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.
I reached back and smacked his shoulder.
Hard.
He jolted up like he'd been electrocuted. "What the—?"
But I was already launching myself out of bed, tripping on the blanket, clutching my dress with both hands, and sprinting to what I hoped was the bathroom.
Door. Lock. Breathe.
I stared at my reflection. My hair looked like I'd been dragged through a snowstorm and then tossed into a rave. My eyeliner was under my eyes. And my lips looked…
Swollen.
My heart dropped.
I tilted my head. Squinted.
And then I saw it.
Right below my collarbone.
A hickey.
A real, purple, faintly smug-looking hickey.
"Oh my God."
I poked it. Winced. Covered my mouth.
And that's when it hit me.
Like a tidal wave of memory, blurry and chaotic, but very real.
---
Flashback
I was laughing.
Spinning on the dance floor with Theo's jacket draped over my shoulders, holding a cup of punch that definitely had more vodka than juice. The pool lights flickered across his face. We were arguing about who won the fake limbo contest. I claimed it was me. He said I cheated.
"You bribed the DJ, admit it," he teased, backing me up until I hit a wall.
"You just can't handle losing to a girl in heels," I grinned, poking his chest.
"You're dangerous in heels," he murmured, eyes dark.
Then, without a warning, he kissed me.
Right there. In front of everyone. And I kissed him back, hard.
Later, we were in a room—his room, apparently.
I remember straddling him on the bed, my dress riding up, his hands all over me. There was heat. Moans. Laughter. Me unbuttoning his shirt. Him pulling down the strap of my dress.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered once.
I didn't.
---
Back in the present.
I slid down the bathroom wall until I hit the cold tile floor, still gripping my dress like it might fly away.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay. Okay. Okay."
My first semi-drunk kiss turned into a half-naked sleepover with my enemy. My rival. The boy who gave me detention. The one who made me want to scream and kiss him at the same time.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
…
Right?