Your head felt like it had been split open by a jackhammer. The first thing your blurry eyes focused on was a black FBI jacket draped over a chair and a bulletproof vest lying beside it.

“Ohhh… fuck,” you groaned, flopping back onto the pillow, the memories of last night blurry at best.

Footsteps approached.

The man who entered was straight out of a movie—early 30s, muscle-filled frame that stretched his black t-shirt, dark hair slightly messy, and piercing eyes that made you forget how to breathe. His jawline was criminally sharp, and when he spoke, his deep voice rolled through the room like thunder.

“Good afternoon,” he said casually, crossing his arms. “It’s 2 p.m. How’s your head?”

Your mind scrambled. “Did we—?”

“God, no.” He cut you off instantly, a low, amused laugh following—God, that laugh was hot. “You passed out as soon as we got here. I had to clean up after you, though. You threw up all the water I made you drink.”

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. “Kill me now.”

“No, no,” he replied with a smirk, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re too entertaining alive.”

You peeked at him, suspicious. “…Are you flirting with me right now?”

“No,” he said, grinning. “I’m kidding. Relax.” He tilted his head slightly. “I do make good coffee, though. Want some? It might save your life.”