Aidan opened his eyes, urgently needing to relieve himself in more ways than one. Rolling from his side to his back, he landed with a thud, both his head and right calf striking a solid object. Pain splintered throughout his body. Squinting, he attempted to bring his dark surroundings into focus and decipher what was happening in his spinning world. A narrow stream of light shone through a window. Okay, he was inside somewhere with shag carpet. Reaching, he felt a soft, solid object to his left. Pillows. Leather. Ah, a couch. To his right, he felt wood, metal, and cool glass. A table. Piecing it together, he determined he was wedged on a floor between a couch and table. But where? He didn’t have a table in front of his couch. He fumbled to remember. The last thing he remembered was talking with that loudmouth reporter, Toby Harrelson, from XJJ.

Oh shit! What had he said? Later. Now, he needed to figure out where the hell he was. He maneuvered his twisted limbs to sit erect. A bright light clicked on, and Aidan squeezed his eyes shut.

“You okay there, pretty boy?”

Christophe. Okay. Aidan could rule out being abducted by aliens. Well, maybe not. This was Christophe, after all. 

“Why am I on the floor?”

“How the hell should I know?” Christophe chuckled. “I deposited your drunken carcass on my sofa. It must not have suited your Sleep Number needs.”

“I feel like roadkill.”

“I imagine so, the way you kicked them back.”

Slowly, Aidan opened his eyes to view Christophe standing at the edge of the table, all rippling abdomen muscles, golden skin, and powerful thighs, wearing nothing but cotton boxers with a noticeable bulge in the front. It drew Aidan’s attention to his own physical state, and he grunted. He’d no time for this type of foolishness at this time of night… morning.