I sink back on the bed, the bruises, the aches, everything making much more sense. Why didn’t I slam my head into the wall before I let Robert Montgomery anywhere near me yesterday? Why did I even let him into my apartment? I wasn’t that drunk when we got here!

I turn my head to the right and see that the sheets are crumpled, as if somebody has been there.

He slept here?

I bury my face in my hands. He didn’t get dressed and go home? He decided to spend the night?!

How is this situation ...