A sharp jolt of awareness flooded Erin's senses the moment her eyes fluttered open.
Something… wasn't right.
Soft breath tickled the side of her neck. Her brows furrowed. There was a steady thump beneath her palm. Solid. Warm. Rhythmic. Her gaze snapped down and her heart all but leapt from her chest when she realized her hand was sprawled over a bare chest.
A bare male chest.
Her eyes widened in horror, and her head whipped up—only to meet the sleepy, very familiar face of Xander Volkov.
She let out a strangled shriek and scrambled to sit up, only to realize his arm was still draped over her waist. Her leg had somehow tangled with his. She was practically on top of him.
"What the—Xander?!" she gasped.
Instead of reacting with shock, Xander merely gave a lazy, sleepy frown. "Do you have to yell this early?" he muttered groggily, then let out a tired sigh as if she were the one being unreasonable. And then, unbelievably, he pulled her closer.
Her jaw dropped. "Are you—what are you doing?! Let me go!"
He let out an annoyed grunt, eyes still closed. "No. 'S warm. Stop moving."
Erin froze in stunned silence.
"Xander—"
He tightened his grip, clearly not interested in a negotiation. Erin squirmed, trying to untangle herself, but his strength made it impossible. With a deep, sleepy scowl, he buried his face into the crook of her neck.
A hot rush of something entirely unwanted—panic? embarrassment?—flooded her cheeks. She stiffened. "Xander, seriously, let me go."
"Make me," he muttered against her skin.
Erin gritted her teeth. Fine. If brute force wasn't going to do it, then she'd have to get creative.
"Agh—ow!" she suddenly cried out, clutching her side as if in pain.
Xander's eyes shot open. Concern overtook the haze in his gaze. "What's wrong?"
He released her instantly, sitting up in panic. "Where does it hurt? Erin—"
But she was already darting off the bed.
"Wait a second—" he called after her, realization dawning. "You liar!"
Erin bolted upright and rolled off the bed, nearly tripping over the edge in her haste. She ran straight to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
Panting, she leaned against the cool wood, heart racing wildly.
What the hell just happened?!
She touched her burning cheeks, still catching her breath.
The last thing she remembered was being in the car after the celebration. She'd been tired. Maybe even a little tipsy. She must've dozed off. But… how did she get here? And in his bed, of all places?
Her eyes darted toward her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was sticking out in odd directions, her eyeliner smudged from last night, and her lips were dry. She looked like a mess.
Groaning, she covered her face with her hands. "Why… why do I care how I look right now?" she muttered under her breath.
She shouldn't care. She shouldn't.
But a traitorous voice in the back of her mind whispered that it mattered. That she didn't want him—of all people—seeing her this way. And that thought annoyed her more than anything else.
Frustration mounted inside her chest. She splashed cold water on her face and tried to think straight.
Xander would never take advantage of her. That much she was sure of. If something had happened, she would've known. She would've felt it. Her body showed no signs of discomfort, and there were no hazy memories lurking at the edge of her thoughts. No, he hadn't done anything.
But still... why were they in his room?
He never let anyone into his room. Not even Cassian. Erin had even considered the possibility that his bedroom might hold secrets about the Volkovs—ones she could someday use. So why would he let her in here?
And more importantly, if he hadn't brought her here... who did?
That question clawed at her as she towel-dried her face and tried to tame her hair into something less chaotic. She still didn't have answers, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to ask for them just yet.
With one final breath, Erin stepped out of the bathroom.
And immediately braced herself—for whatever awkwardness, teasing, or nonchalant arrogance Xander was about to throw her way.
---
Erin emerged from the bathroom, freshly changed and looking far less like the wreck she felt inside. She tried not to meet Xander's eyes as she walked back into the room, but the smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips made it impossible to ignore him.
"Well, good morning to you too, cuddle thief," he said, his tone light and playful.
Erin narrowed her eyes. "Cuddle… what?"
"You heard me." He tilted his head, lounging against the headboard with his arms crossed. "Shouldn't I be the one asking questions here? Like why you climbed into my bed and decided I was your human pillow?"
"What are you talking about?" she blinked in confusion, arms folding across her chest.
"You got drunk. I helped you to your room. One of the staff changed your clothes, obviously a woman — calm down." He raised his hands in mock defense before she could even protest. "And I left you to sleep. But about thirty minutes later, you waltzed straight into my room like you owned the place."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "No way."
"Oh, definitely yes." He looked far too amused for her comfort. "You climbed right into my bed, clung to me like your life depended on it. I tried to peel you off, but you just wouldn't let go. You whined. And pouted. And clung harder. You're deceptively strong when you want something. I figured if I fought harder, I'd probably bruise you or something. So… I gave up."
Erin blinked several times. "You're lying."
Xander chuckled and reached for his phone. "I thought you'd say that."
He tapped the screen, logged into the security system, and pulled up the footage. He tilted the phone toward her, and there she was — blurry night-vision footage of her in an oversized shirt and shorts, swaying slightly as she made her way down the hallway. Her eyes were half open, but her steps were slow and deliberate. It was somehow both eerie and pitiful.
"God," she whispered. "I look like a ghost."
"More like a sleep-deprived zombie," he grinned. "Creeped me the hell out. But you did come straight here."
She met his eyes, guilt flashing across hers. "I haven't sleepwalked in years…"
He shrugged, clearly unbothered. "Well, you made a surprisingly decent cuddle buddy."
She gaped at him. "You're not serious."
"Oh, very. You snore when you're tired, by the way." His grin widened.
Just as she opened her mouth to retort, a wave of dizziness washed over her. The room tilted slightly, and her knees buckled. "Whoa—"
Xander was on his feet in an instant, catching her before she hit the floor. His arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her as her body slumped against his.
"Erin?" he asked, voice suddenly concerned. "Are you okay?"
She winced, clutching her forehead. "Ugh… my head. I think it's the hangover. I just need a second—"
But Xander was already pulling his phone from his pocket, heading toward the nightstand.
"Wait—what are you doing?"
"Calling the doctor."
"No! Xander, I'm fine. It's just a hangover—seriously, it'll pass."
"You almost passed out. That's not nothing."
She groaned softly, trying to pull herself together. "Please, don't make a big deal out of this. I'm just dehydrated. And probably sleep-deprived… and—"
"Headache?" he offered with an annoyed tone, though his hand was still on her shoulder, his gaze full of worry.
"Maybe a little," she muttered, leaning back against the bedframe as she tried to regain her balance.
Still, he didn't put the phone down.
"I said I'm fine," she whispered, eyes fluttering shut again as the headache pulsed through her temples.
"And I said I'm calling the doctor," he countered, more gently this time, but with a tone that left no room for argument.
And before she could say another word, he turned and made the call.