Celine Monet has lived alone with her mother ever since she was five, when her parents got a divorce and only one won custody over her. But finally, eight years later, her father wins shared custody.
After moving across the country and settling...
I wake up to someone flicking my forehead. Peeling my eyes open, I see Joeys head hovering over me, grinning. "Wakey wakey."
I scowl. He laughs as I sit up. "What time is it?" I ask.
"Ten a.m." He tells me. "You look like shit. No offence."
I sigh as I run a hand through my dark brown hair. I lean back on the couch, finding something harder there instead. I look back to realise that I'm laying on Joey and immediately sit back up. He grins.
"What? You don't wanna cuddle anymore? You were squeezing onto me all night." He laughs.
I roll my eyes. "Shut up. No I wasn't."
He grabs his phone from beside him and opens it, showing me a picture.
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I scowl. "Who took that?"
"My brother." He says.
"Whatever. You were holding onto me." I reply. I look around the room tiredly, shivering from the cold. He frowns and grabs something from the back of the couch before throwing it at me. It hits me in the face.
"What was that for?" I ask.
"It's a hoodie, genius." He snickers.
"Oh." I say. "Thanks." And I don't waste any time before sliding it over myself. I probably look like a train wreck and a half, but my head is aching too much for me to care. "I can't remember anything that happened last night." I mumble.
"Yeah, that's to be expected." He responds. I hear the disapproval in his tone and frown.
"What do you mean?"
"You drank a lot."
Dread fills me. "Of water?" I ask hopefully.
He shakes his head. "You smoked too. Then you started to try give me your earrings, and said I'd look lovely with them."
I reach a hand up to check that they're still there and didn't fall anywhere in the madness he said happened. My mother would kill me if I lost them, but luckily, they're still there.
Then I put my head in my hands and groan. "I shouldn't have done that." I say so quietly I don't think he hears me. But he does.
"Yeah. You shouldn't have." He tells me.
I frown again, leaning back onto the couch. He knocks his knee against mine. "But you don't have to do it again."
I nod. "I won't."
"Good." He says. He yawns.
•
An hour later I'm walking back home, a slip of paper with Joeys number in the pocket of the hoodie he's let me keep.
