Purple? That can't be. I rub my eyes and look again. Her gown sops up the spilled wine splashed across the hotel’s furry white rug, turning from the shining ivory to a sickening purple.

I sit up slowly and feel my spine find its natural shape again. For a luxury sweet, the furniture is shit to sleep on. I can’t imagine how Em is going to feel when she finally regains consciousness. I rub my hands across my face and see them come back with smears of ashy mascara and bright red lipstick. Last night's events feel far away and too close at the same time. I swivel my head and take in the hotel room around me. The place is trashed but nothing seems to be broken.

Em stirs and springs awake as if she were just drenched in ice water. Her green eyes wild as are they scan the room and find me.

"Holy shit,” she mumbles more I to herself than to me.

"Yeah. We really brought down the house last night,” I say clearing the spot on the couch next to me.

Em stands on wobbly legs and joins me. She sinks into the leather cushions and leans into me, her familiar warmth easing the train wreck happening inside my head. We sit in silence for a moment as we both try to come to terms with last night's impromptu soiree. Our thoughts come to a screeching halt when the bathroom door flies open and and a man comes tumbling out of the doorframe. A mess of brown hair hangs in his face. His navy blue shirt is a crumpled ball in his fist. Intricate tattoos weave up one arm down the other.

Em’s hand suddenly grips my leg as she snaps me back to reality. The fuzzy hangover clears and I finally register who I am staring at, mouth agape.

"Chris? Were you in there all night," Em asks the shirtless man coming out of our bathroom.