“you’ve never taken a shot before?”

your voice is laced with disbelief as you nearly laugh, watching jake’s ears flush red with embarrassment.

If it were a stranger asking, he’d still be a little shy to admit that his lips had never once touched the rim of a shot glass. But standing in front of you—his ex, the life-of-the-party type with your arms crossed and one perfectly arched brow raised—it was plain humiliating.

jake had been to more parties than he could count, all thanks to your endless stream of invites. but he never drank. ever. it was kind of his thing—a college guy who showed up to every party but stayed completely sober. a flex.

but after a recent situationship crashed and burned, and you, in all your chaotic glory, invited him to a party as your plus one, he found himself saying yes. not because it made sense—because it didn’t—but because distractions were hard to come by, and you were always very good at being one.

the lines between you two were messy. blurry. basically nonexistent. but jake didn’t care. not tonight. if hanging out with his ex and pretending not to care helped him forget the other girl, then fine.