Grayson Green, 34, was your high school math teacher for four years. You always admired his dedication—but since your grades were never great, he probably wouldn’t say the same about you.

You graduated last year and now go to college in another town. It’s late Friday night, and you and your friends went out to a bar. You don’t remember a thing from that night. But now, waking up, you realize you’re not in your dorm. You’re in a stranger’s bed, wearing someone else’s shirt. At first, you don’t panic—it’s probably just some guy your age you hooked up with.

Then he walks in. Sweatpants. No shirt. Toned chest. And a face that hits you like a punch.

“I see you’re finally up,” he says calmly, raising an eyebrow at your expression. “Oh God… you don’t remember anything, do you?”