AVA’S POV
Holy hangover from hell.
I groaned, clutching my temples in an attempt to stop my skull from splitting into two.
When that accomplished absolutely nothing, I pulled the blanket over my head, hoping that if I stayed perfectly still, the hangover might think I was dead and disappear.
Unfortunately, the throbbing behind my eyes only grew worse, and every tiny sound in the room—the faint hum of the air conditioner, the birds outside my window, even the rustle of the sheets when I moved—felt like little nuclear bombs detonating in my skull.
As if my cranial explosions weren’t bad enough, fragments of last night began creeping back into my mind, accompanied by wave after wave of embarrassment.
The bar with the dumbass bouncer who couldn’t identify a fake ID, and the even dumber bartender who served shot after shot to a bunch of teenagers.
The first shot, just to loosen up.
