My head was throbbing and my mouth tasted vile. It was that dry, hungover taste that made me queasy. I refused to open my eyes just yet, hoping that maybe if I could fall back asleep, I could sleep my miserable feelings away.

I rolled onto my side, reaching for a pillow. I tugged the comforter around me a little more, relishing the soft feel of it on my skin, the way it was warm against the chill of the air.

This was not my bed.

The thought shot through me like a rocket. ...