The Cabin (Published Preview)

Chapter Three

Two hours later, Blake and I were back at the cabin and indulg­ing in drinking games with my friends. It didn't take long for me to get tipsy again...and then go straight to being drunk. I still knew my name and the prime minister's, but I'd definitely had one too many.

Tipping my head back, I laughed hysterically until my stomach muscles screamed in protest. Everything that was only remotely amusing when you were sober was heightened when you were drunk—so Kyle falling over was hilarious. He didn't even go all the way down—it was more like a stumble—but I was drunk, so it didn't matter. He stood up and looked around as if hoping no one had seen.

I giggled uncontrollably.

"Piss off," he snapped, narrowing his eyes at Courtney as she laughed too.

"Touchy," she muttered, leaning into Josh's chest as he put his arm around her.

Kyle folded his arms. "Touchy? Really, Court?"

If Courtney had tripped, she wouldn't have found it funny.

"Back off," Josh barked.

Could we not go an hour without someone arguing anymore?

Pre-Josh we rarely bickered. I groaned and held my full stomach. It was full from stuffing my face with enchiladas, and it was prob­ably the only reason I could hold all of the alcohol I'd drunk.

Blake kicked his feet up on the coffee table and threw his arm over the back of the sofa behind me. Aaron's baby blues turned suspicious as he watched us. I refused to meet his eye and wrapped my arms around myself, not liking being the center of anyone's attention.

My walk with Blake had caused a few raised eyebrows. My friends—minus Court and definitely excluding Josh—seemed to think he was bad news, but that was probably because he was related to Josh and they hadn't really spoken to him yet. If they were giving Josh a second—or tenth—chance, they could certainly well give Blake a first one. Aaron was stubborn and protective though, so I knew he'd be the hardest to convince.

"Oh my God, we're gonna be so hungover tomorrow," Megan whined. She wasn't as drunk as she acted, but she had always been like that. She'd perfected her look-at-me wobble, blatantly tripping over her own feet. She didn't like being drunk and losing control, but she didn't like to be the odd one out, so she pretended. Everyone knew she pretended. I think she knew we knew, but we all went along with it and laughed at silly, drunk Megan wobbling. It was kind of ridiculous.

"More shots!" Aaron announced, pointing to the empty shot glasses on the table. I had lost count of how many we had done so far. But as much as we had already drunk, we were going pretty slow compared to that night.

Blake was surprisingly sober for the amount he'd put away. I suspected he drank quite a bit at home to have that kind of tolerance. He walked in a straight line when he got up for more beer.

As the shots kept coming, I started to feel sick. My stomach turned, and every time I swallowed, I felt like my throat was pinching shut. Megan had brought some Italian liquor with her and made us finish the bottle because, as she put it, "If I take that crap back with me, my mother will disown me." I could see why. It tasted of lemon and burned on the way down. It was probably what toilet cleaner tasted like. We also polished off Aaron's bottle of spiced rum.

I groaned and craned my neck. My body felt heavy and weak. I was getting to the sleepy part of being drunk. Everything was swimming and spinning.

"Does anyone else feel weird?" I asked.