My brain’s fucking fried, dude. Half a dream in, half a dream out, and then I feel the bed move.

The first thing I register is cold. The second thing is space. Which, for the record, is not how I went to sleep.

I definitely went to sleep with Braelie practically glued to me, her soft thigh thrown over my hip like I was her goddamn body pillow. I remember because I thought, damn, Robertson, don’t fuck this up—don’t roll over and crush the pretty stranger in your bed like a 200lbs weighted fucking blanket.

And now? My bed’s empty as my brain this early in the morning. And my sheets are cold as Phi’s heart.

When my eyes twitch open, I barely see anything, my dorm’s dark except for the streetlamp bleeding through the blinds. My head is pounding—like, “three IPAs and two shots of whatever the fuck Oliver poured” pounding. My mouth tastes like someone rubbed pennies on my tongue. And Braelie’s… bent over by my desk, scooping her bra off the floor like she’s a raccoon caught stealing pizza crust.

I grunt. Literally just—“hnfh.” Why yes, speak neanderthal, fluent in fact. Clearly.

Braelie freezes like a doe in headlights.

Yeah. Busted.

I rub my face, trying to wake up, but my body’s moving slower than my brain. Voice cracks when I rasp, “‘Fuck are you doing?”

She blinks, clutching her clothes to her chest in a feeble attempt for modesty because bro? I’ve saw it all last night. Very plush and soft if I do say so myself. “…Getting dressed?” She drawls like it’s obvious, and yeah, Sherlock Holmes, it is. But why? ‘Cus no.

Oh, hell no.

I push myself up, groaning, and immediately regret it because my skull feels like it’s splitting. But I still scowl at Braelie, because what else am I supposed to do? Let her dip like I’m a fucking frat party one-night stand?

“You can’t just—” I stop to yawn, then point at the door. “You can’t just fuck me and leave. That’s… that’s illegal.”

She bites her lip like she’s trying not to laugh. Which, rude. I’m in distress. “Is that legal advice from your dad, Noah?” She rebuked, snarky little shit. I promise the jury she didn’t have this much mouth when I was…

Never mind.

I flop back against the pillows, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand like some oversized toddler. “Deadass, where are you going? It’s—” I squint at the clock. “…four a.m. The birds aren’t even up yet.”

She shrugs, all soft and guilty. “I should go.”

“Go where, bro?” My voice comes out way too whiny for a guy who’s six-three and allegedly terrifying on the field. I know it. She knows it. Doesn’t stop me from doubling down though. “Stay. Bed’s right there. It’s literally built for this exact purpose. I was—” another yawn tears out of me—“I was comfy.”

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps fumbling with her clothes.

I drag myself upright again, hair sticking up, pajama pants hanging low, trying to glare but probably looking like a drunk doberman or shepherd. My chest is tight and not just from the hangover.

“You’re not about to make me the guy who gets ditched in his own room, are you?” I rub my eyebrow piercing, squinting at her. “That’s cruel. That’s, like, criminal-level cruel. Seriously, M’not the type of guy to kick a girl out.”

Braelie finally looks at me, wide-eyed, and clutching her Victoria’s Secret set like it’s armor. Might be. Would tame me in a second if I saw her in it again but that’s a conversation for later. At an appropriate, sun-risen time when we cuddle awake and I give this girl, whom I met last night, kisses until she wakes up and we have craaaazzzyyy amazing morning time.

But for now? I’m sitting there, blinking at her, half out of my mind but dead serious when I mumble, “Come back to bed, baby.” I mumble, like a whiny, clingy, shameless toddler. Cus she was warm and I want warm back, okay? I’m a simple Neanderthal with simple Neanderthal needs.