The party is still raging on downstairs, but I feel like I'm close to done. I don't drink as much as some of my friends – Jade, for instance, would tease and call me a lightweight if she knew how tipsy I was already – but, even so I've had enough to make me feel challenged at standing up. I giggle to myself, leaning my weight on the sink. Everything seems to be spinning in front of my eyes through the semi-darkness, even though I'm standing still. I look in the mirror: somehow it's surprising to me that I look exactly the same drunk as I do sober.

There's a crashing sound as Jade comes spilling in the bathroom door, tripping over those chunky boots she always wears. She tries to stay standing, looking like she's scared herself. We look at each other for a surprised, silent moment before we both burst out laughing.

"Ahh, shut up Vega," Jade sighs through her laughter, and it's not how she normally would say it. Her eyes are on the drink in her hand.

"You're so drunk." I point out; my slurred speech marks me as a hypocrite.

Jade takes a step toward me. "Am I?" She raises her eyebrows, and that little silver piercing glints.

Usually I'd be intimidated, but right now that just seems silly. I lean my face in close to hers and tilt my head slightly to the right.

"You smell like you just made out with a bottle of Jack Daniels." I say, trying to sound witty. Am I witty when I drink?

She grins, our faces inches apart. I notice that she has a freckle above her lip.

"And you smell like you just had Sex on the Beach." She relishes every syllable.

The girl is good. That had indeed been my drink of choice. Cat had giggled over the name the whole time she had made it for me.

I bite my lip and smile at her. It sucks that it takes alcohol to make me brave, and to make her civil.


Jade's empty Solo cup falls to the floor as she lunges at me, her lips sloppily crashing against mine. Her body pins me against the sink. I feel weak with the rush. My brain is asking why this is happening, but my body is going with it. I pull her against me by the collar of her shirt, and I can feel her fingers digging into my waist. Her tongue pushes roughly into my mouth, where I realize with a small thrill that it too, is pierced.

A few drunken giggles and stumbling in the dark, and we end up on the floor. Jade drags me down in a blur of lips against lips against skin, and hands finding their way around curves and under clothes. At this point I'm not sure if I'm more intoxicated by Jade, or the alcohol. Either way, I'm not forming very concise thoughts – but god her boobs are amazing.

I'm now missing my shirt, and her flannel is mostly unbuttoned. Her mouth feels so damn good against my neck, and she's working her way down. With one hand she's pulling my hair, and the other is trying to get under the waistband of my skinny jeans. This is all such a bad idea, but it's not unlike many dreams I've had about her.

There's a sudden loud sound from downstairs, like a gunshot. We scramble in a panic, leaping off of each other and grabbing up the various articles of clothing we've now managed to remove. Instead of screams following the shot, there are cheers. I realize, feeling very stupid, that someone has just opened a bottle of champagne. Between us there's only the sound of heavy breathing, and the tension of whether we should pick up where we left off.

"It's midnight," Jade asserts. "Damn, Tori," she, reverts to her normal, brash tone, "never thought you'd be my New Year's kiss." She clears her throat and gets to her feet, wiping her mouth and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

I watch her weakly, still sprawled on the ground with my knees apart, my body complaining that things didn't go further. I exhale deeply, sitting up a bit, "Yeah, Happy New Year, I guess. What's your resolution?" I quip, as I watch her straighten her hair in the mirror.

Jade chuckles, gives me her most smoldering look, and then kneels between my legs. She pushes her face closer to mine, causing me to fall back on my elbows again. She pushes a finger to my lips before whispering, "To be very, very good at keeping secrets."