I groaned as the buzzing beside the bed yanked me out of sleep.
Fumbling around, I found a phone—not mine.
"Galactic Dic group chat?" I mumbled, blinking and rubbing my eyes. I had to squint at the screen like a grandma.
This is definitely not my phone.
The latest message, from someone named Captain Extortion, said: "Yo, 'Panty Collector' missed rooftop drinks last night. Who's the lucky girl, Johnny?"—followed by a flood of crying GIFs.
Wait... what?
I tossed the phone onto the bed just as Johnny been puked out by the bathroom, robe around his waist, towel in his hair.
Our eyes met.
He grinned, smug and annoyingly satisfied. He looked so proud—dripping with that post-s*x confidence. I could already tell he was dying to mock me about finally sleeping with his secretary.
Guess I’m
