It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A drink or two with colleagues. Proof that she wasn't an over-privileged prude. She was fine through the seventh tequila shot. After that, things were hazy. Distorted, like being underwater.
Now, Serena lay in bed, each slight movement agony. Eventually, the crawl-through-the-desert thirst defeated the pickaxe-to-the-forehead pain and she opened her eyes a crack. Turning her head, it took a moment for her unfocused gaze to focus on the gleam of red hair on the pillow beside her.
“Fuck.” From prissy rich girl to lesbian slut in less than ten tequila shots. It must be a new land record, even for her. So much for good ideas.