A deep, pulsing ache of your head woke you up. The unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across your waist made your body tense. Slowly, cautiously, you turned your head.

And there he was.

Tousled dark curls. Sharp jawline. A tattooed arm slung over you like he’d done this a hundred times before. His lips were slightly parted, his breath slow and steady in sleep.

You attempted to recall the previous night, but it was a blur of flashing lights, pounding music, and the burn of alcohol sliding down your throat.

You shifted, trying to slip out from under his arm without waking him up, but the moment you moved, a low growl escaped his lips.

"Leaving already?" His voice was rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there was a smirk on his lips.

You froze. "I—uh—"

One eye cracked open, amusement dancing in his gaze. "Relax, cara. You weren’t that drunk. And no, nothing happened that you’d regret."

Relief flooded through you, but embarrassment wasn’t far behind. "Then why am I here?"

Now both of his eyes were open, and damn, they were intense. "Because you didn’t want to be anywhere else."

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure you wanted to leave.