The first thing she noticed was the sheets, they were soft, unfamiliar, and felt expensive.The second was the room, dark, minimalistic, or hollow of emotions, and nothing like her apartment.A slow, heavy pounding in her head reminded her of the alcohol still thick in her system. She groaned, shifting beneath the sheets, only to realize, "This isn’t my bed."A sharp breath left her lips as her body went rigid, her heart slamming against her ribs.She forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze, taking in the unfamiliar space she was in. The bedroom was spacious but cold, decorated in sleek blacks and deep grays. The air smelled faintly of something woody, expensive, and dangerously intoxicating.And then she looked down, at her own self under the sheets. She was not in her clothes from last night.Instead, she was wearing a loose black T-shirt and drawstring sweatpants, clothes far too large to belong to her.From the looks of them, they were men's clothing.Oh, hell no.Panic c
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