As the first shell-pink rays of dawn filter through Harlow's bedroom window, I groan and pull the comforter over my face. It's far too early for me to be awake.

I flip over carefully, mindful not to wake Harlow up and resign myself to a day of headaches.

Harlow lets out a labored sigh from across the queen-sized bed and opens his eyes. "Neither of us is gonna get any more sleep if you keep moving. It's only six a.m."

"Shh." I cover my eyes with my hand. "I'm trying. It's so bright. Get better curtains."

Harlow grunts and sits up. He runs a hand through his already messy black hair and yawns before throwing back the blanket and pushing himself off the bed. "Well, I'm up now. You can try to sleep, or you can come downstairs with me and get some coffee."

I lie there for a second, contemplating my choices. If I could just stay here a little longer, maybe I could fall asleep again.

But Harlow looks so tired. I can't leave him alone when I'm the reason he's up.

Plus, a chance to have him make some of his mom's Colombian coffee? Yes, please. I mean, his family even imports and grinds their own beans. I'd never admit it, but their coffee is even better than the coffee shop where I work.

"Alright, I'm coming," I grumble before following him downstairs. Thankfully, the air isn't as cold as I was prepared for, and my borrowed sweatpants provide some extra warmth.

The earthy, deliciously sweet smell of coffee fills the air as it brews.

Everything about their kitchen screams expensive. As attorneys, Harlow's parents spared no expense at building their dream home—even though they're rarely home to enjoy it. It's sleek, modern, and polished—the complete opposite of my house. But somehow, it's just as welcoming.

When the coffee is finished, Harlow pours it into two mugs, adding cinnamon and vanilla creamer to mine before sliding it across the marbled granite counter to me.

I take a hesitant sip to not burn my mouth. The coffee's delicate sweetness curls over my tongue, its warmth coating my veins. A happy sigh escapes me as I wrap my hands around the cup to warm them.

Harlow's coffee is the greatest thing about my mornings here. It's absolutely perfect.

A light chuckle comes from across the counter, and I open my eyes to find Harlow staring at me, smirking. "You're such a dork when it comes to coffee."

I take another drink from my cup. "Not just any coffee, though. Only yours." I look down at my cup and back up at him. "And Starbucks."

He scoffs as he lifts his mug. "My coffee is much better than Starbucks."

I purse my lips. "Mmm, debatable."

His eyes narrow briefly, like he's debating whether it's worth the effort to retort back. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up, a grin taking over.

I glance at the clock—6:52am. I scrunch my nose. We only got, like, three hours of sleep.

"Any plans for today?" I ask, my question almost cut off my a yawn.

Harlow shrugs, leaning against the counter with one arm and sipping his coffee with the other. "Not really. In all honesty, I'll probably end up falling asleep in a few hours. Nothing else to do."

"Fair enough." That means I have to go home soon. I cringe. How can I stall? "Can I use your shower before I go home? Mom will kill me if I smell like alcohol."

"You'll smell like alcohol even if you shower. You reek of it."

I glare at him as my phone chimes. "Funny. I didn't even drink that much." When I look down at the notification, my heart drops.

It's an Instagram post from one of the football players. James is beside him, mouth spread in a wide, toothy grin as they stick their arms out and pose for the photo.

Images play through my mind—tousled dirty-blonde hair, soft lips searching in the dark, and citrusy liquor. My blood turns to ice as panic sinks its claws in.

What the hell am I going to do when I see him again?

"Are you okay?"

My head shoots up from my phone. Harlow is staring at me, his jade eyes turned down as his brows wrinkle with worry.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay. You look like you've seen a ghost or something." He watches me as I turn in my seat to face him.

"It's nothing." I slide my mug toward him so he can refill it. "I just remembered I might have broken something at TJ's last night, is all."

He watches me skeptically, but shrugs. "If that's the case, just don't tell him it was you when he asks, and he'll never know the difference. There were too many people there last night to figure out who it was."

I nod as if that makes me feel better, but I remain fixated on the possibility that James might remember what happened and come after me to keep me quiet. He won't have to worry about me blabbing, though. I don't want to think about it any more than I have to.

I sigh and bring my mug to the sink. "Anyway, I'm gonna go shower before I head home. Hopefully, I can at least smell a little better."

"My cologne is in there too. But keep your grubby mitts off my Yves."

I roll my eyes. "I don't need your expensive-ass cologne."

As I walk away, I fire off a quick text to my mom. "At Harlow's. Be home in an hour or so. Sorry I didn't tell you last night. It was late, and I didn't want to wake you guys up."

When I make it to the bathroom, I let the water run until steam curls around the edges of the mirror. Stepping under the spray, I close my eyes in contentment. The hot water eases the pain from my aching muscles as it runs down my body, chasing away bits of my hangover.

My mind drifts to what will be waiting for me at home. I wasn't planning to stay out that late last night, so I imagine I'll be seeing a side of my mother that doesn't come out often. If I wasn't so drunk last night, maybe I'd have at least remembered to text one of my parents when I was leaving the party.

All I have to do is keep my head down and she'll relax a bit. Maybe I'll throw in a proposition for some mother-son quality time. Lord knows she's been nagging me about it for years. One movie night with her and all will be well again. Probably.

Dad, however... That's a different story. But, if Mom is content, she can convince him to be, too. Eventually.

At the very least, they won't let me go out again for a while. Which I can live with, considering they usually let me get away with a lot more than they should.

When I step out of the shower, Harlow shouts from his living room, "Your mom is calling!" Then his voice quietens as he speaks into the phone.

I dry off and dress myself as if there's a fire under my ass.

Harlow and my mom have always gotten along, but when something like this happens, I'm always bracing for the moment she blows up at him.

"Yes, Mrs. Green, I'll have him home as soon as possible." He chuckles. "Now, you know me. I'm the responsible one."

I scoff and, grabbing Harlow's cologne off the counter, furiously drown my—well, technically, his—clothes to hide any lingering hints of alcohol. Then, I storm out of the bathroom and snatch my phone out of his hand, bringing it to my ear.

"Mom?" When she doesn't answer, I glance at the screen, only to be met with my home screen—a picture of Harlow and I absolutely hammered at a party. "Shit." I shut it off and toss it on the couch.

"She doesn't seem too upset. At least, not enough to kill you." Harlow brings his coffee to his lips to take a long drink. He sniffs. "Also, I thought I told you to leave my Yves alone. You used so much of it. You're gonna suffocate me."

"Shut up." I sigh, squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose. "At this point, I'd prefer it if she killed me."

"So dramatic," he comments before setting his cup down. "You know, at some point, there will be a time when your parents can't handle your shit anymore and go full lockdown on your ass."

"Well, I guess I'll have you there to help me out, won't I?"

"You damn sure better hope so, or you're toast." His shirt rises slightly with his arms as he stretches, revealing his happy trail and adonis belt.

I roll my eyes. Show off. Must be nice to have my dream body.

He tosses his mug in the sink and looks at the time on his phone. "You should get home soon. Your mom won't wait much longer."

I sigh. "Right." My stomach twists as I push myself to my feet. I hate disappointing my parents, but there's no putting this off any longer.