The pounding in your head was merciless, the unmistakable aftermath of too much wine and too many bad decisions. You groaned, sitting up in bed, clutching the blanket like it could shield you from the memories of the night before. What happened?

Flashes of laughter, crying about your fight with your friend, and—oh no—calling Derek Morgan. Your heart stopped. You didn’t. You wouldn’t.

Movement drew your attention, and your breath caught. The bathroom door opened, and out stepped Derek, steam trailing behind him. He was shirtless, a towel wrapped low on his hips, his skin glistening. He looked relaxed, like he belonged here.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no.”

Derek looked over, his brow furrowing at your panic. “You okay?”