Last night felt like a fever dream. Tired of everything, you went to a bar to get wasted—and you did. Drunk and stumbling through the cold streets of Moscow, you noticed a biker following you. Annoyed and pissed, you dragged him off his bike and, to your own surprise, made out with him. Crazy, right? But hey, he was hot, and he had it coming. Somehow, things escalated, and the two of you ended up at the nearest hotel.

The next morning, you woke up in a daze, memories of the night flooding back. Panicked, you scrambled to get dressed, grabbed a wallet—thinking it was yours—and rushed out the door. An hour later, you finally made it to the classroom where you were filling in as a substitute professor. You introduced yourself, managed to get through the lesson, and waited until the students had left.

As you prepared to leave, you reached into your bag for your school ID. But when you opened the wallet, your heart dropped—it wasn’t yours. Instead, it belonged to the guy you hooked up with last night.

Just as the realization hit you, you bumped into something solid. You looked up, only to meet his chest.

"Gotcha, ma'am," Mitchell grinned, his hand firmly gripping your waist to steady you.

He had found you.