Nightlife ✓

25 | rescue

I TAPPED CALLUM'S SHOULDER FORCEFULLY.

The boy was demonstrating how to form a vortex in a beer bottle as he downed its contents, but he wasn't successful every time. He kept chugging them and attempting to do better the next time, getting progressively drunker to a cheering crowd of onlookers.

"Callum, I'm going to take Quen back to his flat," I informed him. "Don't worry if you don't see him later."

"Oh, a home visit, ay?" he asked slyly, nudging me with his elbow.

"He threw up."

His mouth fell from its usual boisterous smile into a concerned frown. "Sheesh," Callum exclaimed. "He was so well-behaved in high school. I wonder what happened to him—"

"Focus, Cal," I shook him back to the present moment.

Callum was the third drunk man I'd had to deal with tonight, after Noah and Quen—who I'd left to wash up in the bathroom. My patience was running thin for the former two. For the latter one, I seemed to have endless patience. Damn.

"Can I have his address?"

"Yeah, sure."

Callum took my unlocked phone and entered the address into Google Maps.

"That's it. But both of his flatmates are here, by the way. Maybe you could check if one of them is sober enough to take him home. Look, there's one," Callum pointed, extending his finger towards the TV set and a familiar head of blond hair.

"His name's Noah."

I bit down a curse.

"Okay, I'll do that," I instantly lied.

There was no way I would approach Noah of my own volition, even if Quen would have wanted him near. Noah had been drinking too, and I was certain he'd be more of a hindrance than a help. "Thanks, Cal. Take care."

"No, you take care, little lady. Take care of Quentin, too," Callum patted my head. "He's my best-est-est-est buddy ever! Hear that, Quen?" he shouted to the ceiling, head tilted towards where the bathroom would be on the second floor. "We're close, but not that way—"

Pocketing my phone, I set about finding my friends. Viv had abdicated from her undefeated strip beer pong throne. Her shoes and socks were off, but she was still fully clothed. She was watching the current game with a cup in her hand and a man whispering into her ear, but she looked completely unaware of his presence, as if he were an insignificant mosquito.

I placed both hands on her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Reactions between acyl chlorides and carboxylic acids form compounds in which functional group?"

"Acid anhydrides, duh," she rolled her eyes. "Now, shoo, you're blocking my view."

At the kitchen table, Riley was drinking from her last bottle of cider. She was chatting with Sophie and Zoe, who I knew only as a sophomore Halston student that was also from Carsonville. Riley spoke of her the way she would a little sister, because she'd been the only girl in their high school book club until Zoe joined.

"Major Major Major Major is a character from whose novel?" I asked her abruptly, needing no context for our oft-used sobriety test.

"Joseph Heller, easy," Riley answered. "Why are you asking? I don't look that out of it, do I?"

"No, you're fine. I'm just going to drop Quen home," I told her. "I should be back within an hour, but call me if you guys need anything."

Riley looked curious, much like Callum had, but she decided against asking. I must have looked too agitated for the possibility of a hookup so she simply said, "Okay, Kris. See you later."