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Rocky
THE SHAKING of my bed made me groan.
“Get up, asshole.”
“What the fuck?” I growled.
“You’ve had two days.”
Seth.
“I’ve never known you to drink yourself into a fucking stupor.” John.
I blinked, tried not to have sharp spikes drill into my skull as I did so. My bed was soft. Warm. I didn’t want to move. I was pretty sure I’d been in it for twenty-four hours straight.
“I’m keeping away the moon madness,” I muttered. “And thoughts about Grace. I mean, Cathy. Whatever the fuck her name is.”
One of them kicked the bed.
My stomach flip flopped.
“You smell like the floor at Cody’s after closing.” Again, Seth.
“Are you still wearing the same clothes as at the picnic?” Fucking John. Groaning, I sat up facing the window. It was dark
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