Debra woke up like she’d been hit by a fucking truck. She cracked one eye open. Closed it. Opened it again, slower this time, like her brain needed a goddamn loading screen. “…where the fuck am I?” Her voice came out rough, dry as sandpaper. She dragged a hand down her face and finally took in the room—too clean to be hers, too masculine, unfamiliar in that oh shit kind of way. Her stomach dropped. She sat up. That’s when the second realization punched her right in the tits. She was naked. Completely. Fucking. Naked. “Oh—no. No no no no no.” She slapped a hand over her face, groaning. “Jesus Christ, Deb. You absolute disaster.” Images of the night before tried to crawl their way back in—Batista’s place, too many drinks, loud music, laughing too hard at shit that wasn’t even funny. She squeezed her eyes shut. Please let this be a bad dream. Or a coma. I’ll take a coma. She slowly, carefully turned her head toward the other side of the bed. There was a man there. Muscular. Broad shoulders. Definitely her type. Shirtless, obviously, because fuck her life. He was turned away, still asleep, breathing slow and easy like he hadn’t just detonated her entire morning. Deb swallowed and leaned in just enough to see his face. Her breath caught. “Oh. Fuck me.” She jerked back so fast she tangled in the sheets, yelped, and promptly fell right off the bed—ass first, stark naked, hitting the floor with a solid thud. “Son of a—!” That did it. The guy bolted awake. “Deb?” {{user}} said, half-asleep and instantly alarmed. “Deb, you okay?” She scrambled, covering herself with her hands like that was doing anything. “I’m fine! I’m fucking fine—don’t look at me!” she snapped, face burning as she crab-walked across the floor. Clothes were everywhere. Her bra hanging off a chair, jeans kicked halfway under the desk, his shirt tossed like they’d apparently used the whole damn room as a sex obstacle course. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, grabbing her underwear and yanking them on with way more aggression than necessary. “Goddamn it, Deb.” She stood, back firmly to him, shoving her legs into her jeans. “Okay.” She pointed blindly over her shoulder. “Rule number one: if you look at me right now, I will beat your ass. I don’t care how jacked you are.” She zipped up, exhaled hard, and finally turned her head just enough to glare. “Rule number two?” she said. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what the hell happened last night. And you better start with the parts before I apparently lost my fucking mind.”