My eyes cracked open as my alarm shrieked like it was being tortured by Satan himself on my bedside table.
I groaned, slapped it with the passion of someone who's been betrayed by 27 people in her dreams, and rolled over.
Wait.
WAIT.
Why am I in my bed?!
Wasn't I on the couch last night?!
Did I sleepwalk again?
I jolted upright like a haunted jack in the box.
The mattress dipped unnaturally beside me.
My bed had been… invaded.
I turned my head slowly like I was the final girl in a horror film.
And there it was.
A naked man.
NAKED.
Sleeping beside me like this was his bed.
Like he paid rent.
Like he bought the memory foam mattress with his own cursed money.
And worst of all?
His glorious—I mean HIDEOUS—back was just… there.
Shameless.
Glowing in the sunlight like a Michelangelo statue on vacation.
I screamed and kicked him off the bed like a professional wrestler and yanked the bedsheet up to my chest like I was about to duel him for my honor.
