There is some kind of infernal pounding doing pirouettes on the edges of her consciousness.
The pounding continues until Skye surfaces long enough to realise that it is a
pounding of someone attempting to
And not in the metaphorical sense.
Skye stumbles out of bed and trudges into the living room with eyes half closed against the bright glare of daylight. “Whoever you are, prepare to die.
” She slaps a hand against the wall for balance and yanks open the door with a snarl that dies on her lips.
Standing in front of her is quite possibly the most attractive man she’s ever seen.
Like, to the point where she’s pretty sure there are
against cheekbones and a jawline like
“You can beat down
you want,” Skye mutters to herself, staring blankly as the mystery hunk begins ranting at her.
He’s paying approximately zero attention as she yawns against the back of her hand,
content to let him get out his frustrations because nothing is really thick enough to penetrate the fog of her pre-coffee/post-hangover brain.
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