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us!
    There’s another long pause before Kacey continues with that devilish little smile. “Well, I hope she doesn’t mind your rampant sex life. It could be lethal for her if this thing isn’t stable.”
    Sudden tittering tells us Reagan is in fact awake and listening. “Oh, don’t worry. I know the rules,” she calls out in a groggy voice. “I have a red sock we can hang on the doorknob when Livie’s in here with Ashton—”
    I yank the covers over my head because I know exactly where this is going and my cheeks are flushing furiously. Somehow I’ve ended up with my sister’s mini-me as a roommate. Unfortunately my sheets aren’t soundproof, and I have no problem hearing Kacey’s continued teasing. “No need, Reagan. Livie likes witnesses.”
    “I noticed. From what I hear, so does Ashton. And I’m okay with that because that body is to die for! He has the most incredible chest. I could run my tongue down it all night long. Just like Livie did—”
    I burst out in nervous giggles, both horrified and delirious. “I did not. Stop!”
    “Not until you admit that you enjoyed messing around with him last night.”
    I shake my head furiously.
    “His ass is hard too. I’ve copped a feel before. Not the two-handed grip that Livie had on him, though,” Reagan continues.
    “STOP!”
    My raised voice only feeds Kacey’s amusement. “I can’t wait until the first time she has a two-handed grip on his—”
    “Okay! I enjoyed it! Immensely! Stop this conversation now, please! I don’t ever want to see him again.”
    “Until the next time you’re drunk.”
    “I’m never drinking again!” I declare.
    “Oh, Livie . . .” Kacey rolls over to snuggle against me.
    “No, I’m serious! I’m like Jekyll and Hyde when I drink.”
    “Well, Dad did say there’s always a bit of crazy in even the most reserved of the Irish. You sure proved that last night.”
    Irish .
    “Ashton called me ‘Irish.’ Why?”
    “I don’t know, Livie. You’ll have to ask him the next time you guys get drunk and make out.”
    I roll my eyes but don’t bother to respond. Something is nagging at me still.
    Irish.
    Irish.
    My eyes pop open. I pull the cover off my face. “Did Ashton get a tattoo on his butt that says ‘Irish’?”
    There’s a long pause. And then Kacey bolts up, her eyes wide and bright, her mouth hanging open. “I totally forgot about that!” She and Reagan are suddenly howling with laughter. “How did I forget about that?” Jutting a finger in my face, she says, “ You dared the cocky bastard!” She’s clapping her hands with a level of giddiness I rarely see from Kacey. Or even a four-year-old hopped up on sugar. She raises one up to me and, after a long pause, I give her a reluctant high five. “You think you have regrets, Livie? Wait until he figures out why his ass is sore . . .”
    Reagan is laughing so hard that I’m sure there must be tears running down her face, and it’s infectious. Soon the entire bunk bed is shaking as we laugh at the gorgeous rowing team captain and his inked ass.
    And as much as I hate to, as hard as it is to do, I have to admit to myself . . . yeah, last night was fun.
    Every second of it.

    By three o’clock that afternoon, I’m feeling a lot better. Enough that the smell of coffee and fresh pastries didn’t turn my stomach when we grabbed a quick bite at a quaint local café. But now the hangover has been replaced with melancholy.
    I’m saying goodbye to my sister today.
    Of course there are texts, and phone calls, and email, and face time, and I’ll see her when I fly down for our friends Storm and Dan’s wedding in a few weeks, but . . . it’s not the same. I remember the two months away from her while she was in Dr. Stayner’s care. I felt like someone had ripped a chunk of my heart out. Outside of that time, I’ve seen her face every single day of my life.
    Every. Single. Day.
    Even when she was in the ICU after the accident, even when she