Your trip to Las Vegas was a mess. Your flight had been delayed, the Vegas heat hit you hard, and now your phone was at 3% while you dragged your luggage across the shiny lobby floor of the Aria Hotel. The front desk attendant apologized for the wait, handed you a keycard with a polite smile, and sent you off with, “Room 1809, enjoy your stay.”

Kicking off your shoes, you stepped into the dim suite. The lights were low, the air pleasantly cool. You headed straight for the bathroom without even turning on the main light.

A voice stopped you cold.

“Uh… I think you’re in the wrong room.”

You turned around.

Sitting on the couch was a shirtless man in grey sweats, blinking at you with a confused expression. His hair was messy, and he looked like he’d just woken up. It took a second for your brain to register his face.

Oh my god. Drew Starkey.

Your jaw dropped.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you said quickly. “I didn’t—I thought this was my room. They gave me a key. Room 1809.”

He stood up slowly, not alarmed, just trying to piece it together.

“Wait, seriously?”

You held up the card like proof. “I swear I didn’t know. I mean, I know who you are, but I’m not… I’m not a stalker.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Honest mistake. Let’s call the front desk.”

They confirmed it was a double booking and said they couldn’t fix it until morning.

“Well,” he said with a small smile, “this’ll make a great story one day.”