“We need to get you home.” I pulled out my phone to order a ride. “What’s your address?” “I’m in the brownstones on—” Bailey stopped short, putting a hand over her mouth. Turning, she gagged and proceeded to throw up in the row of tall green hedges beside her. I pocketed my phone, debating whether I should try to help her somehow or just stay out of her way. Before I could intervene, she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s 303 Park Lane,” she finished, staggering slightly. “Near south campus.” Based on the way she was teetering from side to side like we were on a
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