BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A muffled groan escaped as someone buried deeper into the warmth, curling tighter like maybe sheer willpower could silence a phone alarm.
Of course, it didn't. The obnoxious beeping only grew bolder, drilling straight into Riley Hale's skull.
His hand moved on instinct, groping blindly for the phone on his nightstand. He knew the drill: slap the screen, roll over, go back to pretending his life wasn't as tragic as it really was.
Except—
Thunk.
His fingers hit a wall.
Weird. The phone wasn't usually hiding behind drywall.
Frowning, Riley tried again, stretching higher this time.
Thunk.
Wall. Again.
A slow, creeping sense of wrongness trickled in. His hand was blocked. His head too. And his body.
…What?
Riley's eyes flew open, and instantly, he wished they hadn't.
Because the first thing his sight was graced with was a chest. A bare chest. A very male, very warm, very scantily covered chest that was currently pressed against his face.
