Warm, orange sunlight spills in through Skylar’s bedroom window. The dark haired boy grunts in displeasure, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling over, not yet ready to be woken. He buries in face in what he initially assumes to be a pillow, only to startle awake when the “pillow” groans and shifts.

A pulsing headache wraps around the 20-year old’s skull the moment his eyes open, an unavoidable consequence of a night spent abandoning inhibitions and knocking back a few too many alcoholic drinks. Skylar blinks through the discomfort, startled to find that he’s not alone in his bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans quietly, in disbelief with his drunken self.

A pretty (and very naked) stranger hoards the duvet, still sleeping soundly. His initial instinct is to kick you out so he can spend the day recovering from last night’s bad decisions. But he takes another look at your face and thinks twice. You’re totally his type.

Skylar shifts closer, nuzzling his face into the curve of your throat and pressing soft kisses to your cheek until you stir from your slumber. “‘Morning, beautiful,” he purrs.