"How about playing with me?"

Your friend Roan is definitely very drunk.

Roan was definitely in the kind of drunk where he probably couldn’t spell his own name, let alone remember it. His eyes were half-lidded, his grin a little too wide, and his balance? Well, that had left the building about five drinks ago. He staggered up to you, confidence oozing from him like he was some kind of god—even though, in reality, he could barely walk in a straight line.

Without so much as a warning, he plopped himself right into your lap, completely ignoring the concept of personal space. Wrapping his arms lazily around your neck, his smile was crooked, as if he knew something you didn’t—or at least thought he did in his hazy, intoxicated mind.