He pulls out of his driveway, heading south onto Main Street. It’s only a short half mile drive back to the dorm and he remains silent until we pull into the parking lot at the top of the hill overlooking my dorm. The same hill I’ve had so much fun trekking up and falling down.

He still hasn’t responded once the car comes to a stop and as much as I want to know the truth, I’m too ashamed to stick around for the answer. As I open my door, he reaches over and grabs my free arm, preventing me from leaving. I glance at his large hand holding onto my small wrist. His fingers wrap the entire way around with room to spare. Slowly, my eyes travel from his fingertips back up to his eyes. The expression on his face surprises me and I know I’m getting an answer whether I like it or not.

“No, Sophie. We didn’t. I prefer my women conscious.”

I nod at his words, realizing my question was more of an insult. “I’m sorry, I assumed with being in your bed and all. I’ve never had this happen before, sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Sophie. Caleb’s the one who should be apologizing, and he will as soon as I remind him what a jackass he is.”

“Caleb? Did I—do it with him?” I cringe at the thought of what may have happened to me last night. I’m not even attracted to Caleb.

“No,” he says as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He stares blankly through the windshield. “But it might have happened if we didn’t find you when we did.” He sighs and rubs his thumb and index finger over his eyes, appearing frustrated. “Next time, please don’t accept drinks from guys you don’t know, no matter how safe they seem. Caleb isn’t a bad guy, but he’s always looking to score. I almost kicked his ass last night. He’s lucky I only punched him once.”

I turn to face him. “You were in a fight because of me?”

“Yeah, Sophie. I was.”

“Were you hurt?” I pray my stupid actions didn’t cause him any pain.

“No, he never touched me. He got his warning served to him though.”

“Did Caleb do this to me?” I ask as I brush my finger over my aching forehead.

“I didn’t see it happen, but you told Cara and I something about him running you into a wall. You also said you fell on the stairs. I’m not sure what all that means exactly, but I don’t like it either way.”

“Jesus. No more parties.” I hang my head, completely ashamed with myself. I knew better than to touch alcohol. Having my father’s DNA and watching him self-destruct over the years should have been more than enough to prevent me succumbing to peer pressure. But I failed anyway. Maybe I’m no better than he is.

“Was last night your first?” he asks.

“Yeah. Lame I know. First time I drank too. You see how well that went.”

“Shit. I had no idea, Sophie. I should have never pressured you into coming. I’m sorry all of this happened to you because of me.”

I put my hand back on the door handle. I can’t sit here any longer because I don’t want him to see me cry again. “I’m okay Kipton—none of what happened last night is your responsibility. It was my own stupid fault for wanting to have a fun night out like the average college girl.”

His eyes take on the same searing declaration as earlier. “Nothing about you is average, Sophie, but what do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just rambling. Thanks for the ride. Coach Evans is going to kill me for being late.” I shut the car door and yank up my T-shirt dress, tying it in a knot at my waist with the hopes that my walk of shame will appear less shameful. Kipton waits until I’m safely down the hill before pulling away—his tires grinding up some loose gravel.

I walk inside to find Drew and a very flirty Cara sitting at the front desk. There’s no way she could have slept considering she’s still wearing last night’s outfit.

“There she is! Morning, love.”

Her perky ass is too much right now. “Here I am,” I mumble back.

“Is my brother coming in?” She looks behind me to the glass door, expecting him to follow me inside.

“No. He left.” I glance at Drew who looks very interested in hearing about my night. He crosses his arms over his chest and smirks at me. “What?” I say entirely too snippy.

Drew holds in hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying a word. Glad to see you let loose a little although you look like hell. Cara told me you puked your guts up but what happened to your head?”

“Thanks, Drew. There will be no more parties or late nights for me. I can’t handle this shit. I’m also about to get my ass handed to me from my coach so if I’m not home by dinner, send a search party. As for my head, the hell if I know.” Drew busts up laughing at me, but Cara smacks him and warns him not to tease me.

“Don’t sweat it, Sophie. We’ve all had a night or two like that,” Drew admits.

“Ugh. I’d rather not experience another.” I press the elevator button, but change my mind when the doors don’t open. Instead, I take the stairs two by two. After the second flight I have to stop and rest. Suddenly dizzy, I take a minute to get my bearings before continuing back up the flights. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

I grab my shower caddy and rush to wash the remnants of last night from my body. I can’t show up to practice sporting this horrendous street walker makeover. Tilting my head back to wash my hair proves more of a challenge than it should. Gripping the wall so I don’t fall over, I do the best I can. It’s too painful for even the spray of water to hit my forehead. For once, I’m relieved when my shower is finished, not wanting to linger a second longer than necessary.

Although refreshed, I still look like hell. Grabbing the last granola bar in the box, it’ll have to suffice as breakfast. I also chug a Gatorade knowing I’m dehydrated from the combination of alcohol and getting sick.

Just as I’m about to leave, I remember the mark on my neck and hurry to find my foundation. Dotting a few dabs over the mark, I do my best to cover the hideous hickey. As long as the make-up doesn’t sweat off me before the end of practice, it should cover the evidence of my out of control behavior. Part of me wishes it was from Kipton so its existence wouldn’t be so shameful because the thought of Caleb sucking on my neck taints any thoughts of possible pleasure.

BY THE TIME I GET to the gym, I’m huffing and puffing. My hair, still wet from the shower, is painfully pulled into a ponytail on the top of my head while I fling my bag onto an empty bench inside the locker room. I don’t bother wasting the time it would take to stash it safely inside a locker. My body begs me to slow down, but I can’t.

Shedding my warm ups, I pile them in a heap on top of the bag before rushing through another set of gym doors. Arriving to practice late and without an excuse is the equivalent of asking to be put on probation. Jeopardizing my spot on the team for a night out is not who I am, at all—ever. Allowing Kipton’s pleading coupled with his spectacular muscles to throw me off my game was immature. In fact, my one night of fun wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. My conscious has a tight hold on my behavior for a reason. I need to start listening to it again.

“Nice of you to join us this morning, Sophie. In my office, now,” Coach yells from the other side of the gym.

If he cuts me from the team, I’ll lose everything. My hands shake as I nervously sit down on the small, white chair in his office. Running through my mind are ten excuses about why I was late, but none of them seem believable considering the lump on my head. Think, Sophie. I can’t lose my scholarship.

Coach walks in the room and starts his speech before he even makes it to his desk chair. “So, tell me, Sophie, what was more important than showing up on time this morning? For someone new to the team, you’re not making a great first impression. Your teammates have to trust you as much as I do to get the job done. Right now, they’re not convinced you should even be in the gym let alone the line-up.”