So, out of all the poor decisions I've ever made, coming to this party without pre-gaming has to be pretty high on that list.

That's not to say I hate parties. It's just that I'm usually tipsy by the time I show up and absolutely wasted after a few rounds of Beer Pong with Harlow. Right now, though, my idiot best friend and partner in crime is nowhere to be seen.

I give up searching for him and push past a random couple dancing—I hope they're dancing, at least.

"There has to be good booze, somewhere," I mutter to myself. TJ isn't cheap enough to host a party with only cheap liquor and beer. Or if he is, he's not stupid enough to.

As I force my way into the den, I spot Harlow at the pool table, practically straddling the side as he lines up his shot. His long, messy black hair falls into his face as he concentrates, and when he puts two stripes into the same hole, he throws his arms up in victory.

I roll my eyes. Show-off. Dude can never make a shot like a normal person.

As he flicks a stray curl out of his face, his gaze catches mine, and he gestures for me to come over.

"Pretty sure assaulting the table like that is cheating." I cross my arms and lean against the table, moving a piece of chalk out of my way. "At least take it out to dinner first if you're gonna treat it like that."

He rolls his eyes. "If you could have made that shot without my method, prove it. Otherwise, I'll do it my way. Besides, we're playing any-shot-counts, so I can do what I want." He smirks lazily and examines the layout of the table again, poking TJ, who scoots out of his way.

I shoot him a pointed look when his next shot fails and snatch TJ's red solo cup from his hand, ignoring his whine of protest.

"Oh, shut up, you know it's your fault I'm even here in the first place." I examine the amber liquid as it sloshes against the plastic, giving it a quick sniff.

The smell hits me immediately. Warm, smoky, a little sweet. Like the air after a weekend of camping with my dad. When everything feels bigger and quieter.

Scotch. I knew I had a good feeling about TJ.

"Stop stealing my drinks. I only ever win when I'm drunk!"

I place the cup back in his hand and pull a chair up to the table. The liquor bottle is sitting on a nearby coffee table, so I grab it along with a clean cup.

Scoping out the room as I pour some out, I give up on trying to find someone to hook up with. It's clear all these guys are straight. Besides, the only 'gay' guys I ever meet are just those looking for someone to satisfy their bi-curious phase. It gets to a point.

"Hey, handsome," a girl says from behind me.

Harlow glances at her out of the corner of his eye and scoffs, muttering "good luck" under his breath.

This should be fun.

I clock her immediately. Cute. Dark-skinned like me, with bohemian braids so long they reach her hips. They're nice, too, like she's just gotten them done.

Unfortunately for her, she's walking straight into the flames of my disinterest.

"Hi there," I say.

She leans against the back of another chair and smiles at me. "I saw you out in the other room and thought you were cute, so I came to say hi."

I return her smile, almost hating how I'm about to reject her. But then again, it's kinda funny—in an awkward way. "Thanks." I give her a small, polite smile. "My boyfriend thinks so, too."

She blinks, and her left arm slips off the chair as she processes what I said. Seconds later, the shock has worn off, and she lets out a nervous laugh before retreating to her friends, casting a glance back at me with a furrowed brow.

"Damn, heartbreaker Green, that was cold," Harlow teases as we watch TJ miss a shot.

Leaning against my chair, he takes a sip of his drink. He only ever sips, really, but I know damn well it's only Diet Pepsi in his cup, nothing else.

As the designated driver, he couldn't drink even if he wanted to—and he usually doesn't want to. He's already started training for basketball, worried he won't get into the school he wants without a perfect season.

"Careful, or yours is next," I shoot back as I take another long drink of my scotch.

Harlow reaches over and plucks the cup from my hand. "Slow down, killer. You don't need to drink the entire bottle. Especially this. What are you, an old man?"

I glare at him. "No fair. And scotch is actually a pleasant drink. Plus, you guys normally drink as much as you want. What's wrong with it when I do?"

"Because we know when to quit, Miles. You keep going like this and you'll be so wasted you'll barely remember anything when you wake up. And you'll be so hungover when you get home that it'll be impossible to hide it from your parents." He stares down at me, and the concern hidden in his dark eyes is almost enough to sober me up. Almost.

I sigh, leaning my forehead on the pool table, watching him from the corner of my eye. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll stop soon."

Harlow's jaw twitches. "You need to stop now, though, Miles. You've already had a lot."

I've barely had any since we got here. But it's not like Harlow will believe me, anyway.

Fine.

I set the cup down. Not hard, but not exactly gentle, either.

"Whatever." I stand up and make my way to the front of the house, snatching a bottle of liquor off the coffee table as I go.

"Miles!" Harlow sets his pool cue down and tries to follow me, but TJ grabs his arm. "Miles, I'm serious!"

Who is he to tell me what to do? I know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm not a fucking alcoholic.

I shove past a couple obnoxiously making out in the middle of the hallway. If I recognize the girl right, that's not her boyfriend.

Must be nice to fool around whenever you want. When I fool around, the guy avoids me like a plague after. Story of my life. I can't wait to get out of this town.

When I find TJ's room, I shut the door behind me and flop down on his bed, bringing the entire liquor bottle to my lips. The label isn't on the bottle anymore, so I don't know what it is, but I don't really care.

Shortly after, someone else barges through the door and locks it behind him, panting. There's a soft thud as he knocks his head against the door.

I don't move. He hasn't noticed me yet, and I'd prefer to keep it that way until I know who he is.

He sighs and turns, and I instantly recognize him: squared, withdrawn shoulders, a jaw that always looks like he's halfway to an argument. His eyes clench shut as he slumps to the floor and drops his head into his hands.

"Hey, James." I smile in satisfaction when he jumps.

"What the hell?" He scowls as our eyes meet. "Oh. It's you. I didn't know you were there."

I shrug and take another drink from my bottle. "Not surprising."

James has hated me for as long as I can remember. I didn't actually come out to everyone at school, but all it took was one wrong person finding out. And let's just say James didn't exactly respond with a rainbow flag and a hug.

Back then, being the only openly gay kid in our school felt like walking into every class naked. James made sure that I never forgot how that felt. Not that I blame him. Gay tolerance around here is about as sturdy as a wet paper bag.

My dad even asked our pastor to 'pray the gay away'—until it was clear I wasn't going anywhere and neither was the gay.

"Can you just keep your mouth shut for once?" He brings his knees to his chest and folds his hands under his chin. "I'm really not in the mood."

I shrug and sit up on the bed, watching him as he sits in silence. Any other time, he'd be looking for any reason to make a snide remark.

Pursing my lips, I slip off the bed and crouch in front of him. "You okay, man?" I hold the bottle out to him. "Drink? You look like you could use one."

There isn't even a split second of hesitation as he snatches the drink from my hand and brings it to his lips. Doesn't cringe or anything. Just takes three long gulps.

Considering his presence at almost every party I've been to, it shouldn't surprise me he can tolerate alcohol well. But he's always seemed too stuck up.

"No, I'm not okay. God, I need my thoughts to shut off." He keeps the bottle firmly clasped in his hand as he brings the other to smack himself on the side of the head.

I chew on the inside of my right cheek, waiting for an elaboration that doesn't come. Instead, James takes another gulp from the bottle and sighs.

I sit down cross-legged in front of him and wait until he either explains or leaves. Neither happens, and we sit there for a while in complete, awkward silence.

Eventually, my phone chimes, and I pull it out of my pocket to find a text from Harlow. It's 1 a.m., which means it's almost time to leave, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to ask James to move so I can.

He's the first to break the silence.

"You know," he says, "I've always hated you for being so proud of being different. I mean, everyone seems to act indifferent about you being gay. I know I didn't accept it, either. But..." His eyes cut to my lips for a second before he meets my gaze again. "Now I kind of envy you."

I blink. Why would he envy me? I'm popular like him, sure, but he has so much more than I do. He's the first-string point guard on the basketball team, president of the honor society, and has two potential full-ride athletic scholarships because of his athletic skills.

What could I possibly have that he wants?

"I really hope you won't punch me," he says, capturing my attention again.

"Why would I—"

There's no time to react before his hand cups my chin, pulling me forward until our lips brush. Without thinking about it, I deepen the kiss, too inebriated to even hesitate. I can taste the liquor on his lips, far more disarming than it should be.

Until I remember who I'm currently making out with.

I pull back, wiping my lips as I crawl away. "Holy fucking shit," I say breathlessly.

His jaw tenses when he sees my face. "Fuck. I didn't mean to do that. Well, I mean, I did, but... Fuck."

He shoots to his feet, so unsteady he almost topples over in the process. His hand sweeps through his hair as his gaze darts from me to the door behind him.

"Don't fucking say a word to anyone." Then he rips the door open and disappears down the hallway.

My body roots to the floor, completely stunned and just staring at the open door. My hand finds the liquor bottle and I down some more of it before shooting a text back to Harlow, telling him I'll be down in a minute. Any trace of the drunkenness I felt earlier is gone, replaced by utter confusion.

James mother-fucking Morgan just kissed me. Him, of all people.

My lips still tingle, like they haven't gotten the memo that this is wrong. Very, very wrong.

It has to be some kind of joke. Or some kind of messed-up dominance thing. But it didn't feel like one. It felt like... he was actually into it.

And that's the scary part.

Taking another deep drink of the liquor, I decide that it's now officially time to leave. If you're drunk but feel that instant sobering effect? Yeah, time to go home.

When I stagger downstairs on noodle-legs, past the few remaining people, Harlow frowns at the look on my face. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Can you just drive me home?" I try to walk toward the door, but trip over my feet. I can't tell if my body is still drunk while my mind isn't, or if I'm just in shock. Either way, Harlow has made his own assumption.

"You're not going to your house like that. I'll take you to my place." He wraps an arm around my waist to support me as he leads me to his car.

Once inside, I lean my head against the cool window and stare out it, watching as it fogs up from my breath in the cool morning air. A headache starts to throb in my temple, and I know I'm going to be miserable when I wake up later.