Lola 9:02AM

Lola Marlowe woke up in stages.

First came the headache—deep, throbbing, like her skull had been stuffed with bass drops and bubblegum cement.

Second, the subtle comfort of familiarity: her lavender sheets, the vine-wrapped bookshelves, fairy lights flickering against walls lined with plants, sketch pads, and mugs in various states of abandonment. Her room. Her sanctuary. She was home.

Okay. Not in jail. Not dead. Good start.

Then came the regret.

This is what I get for letting that dumbass Josh nuke my life. Manipulative, cheating tool bag—took my trust, my friends, and left me with Gino of all people convincing me Burning Man was a good idea.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

After Josh, she’d nuked her entire social life. Friend groups split, sides were chosen, and Lola picked solitude. She didn’t trust anyone anymore—not really.

Except Gino didn’t count. Gino was a regular at her shop—loud, weird, never shut up while getting tattooed—but harmless. When he’d invited her out last-minute, she’d reluctantly said yes. Not because she trusted him, but because he was a pain in the ass who seemed like he might be a good time.

I’m going to kill Gino. As soon as I’m resurrected, because I’m 90% sure I’m dying right now. Ugh, what even happened yesterday?

She groaned, rolling onto her side.

Something felt… off.

Her bare thighs hit cool sheets. Her ass was out. Her hoodie was oversized and unfamiliar. She sat up with a jolt.

“…What the hell happened to my clothes?”

Her voice came out hoarse, heart thudded.

Neon rave wings? Gone.

Fishnets? Missing in action.

Top? Replaced by a baggy hoodie that definingly wasn’t hers but smelled amazing.

Did I… hook up with the most boring person at Burning Man? This has got to be the plainest khaki hoodie you could buy.

A low groan rumbled at the foot of her bed.

She stilled.

Turned.

And screamed.

There was a man.

A whole-ass man.

Tied to her bed—shirtless, tan, sculpted, and glaring at her like she’d personally killed his bloodline.

He was huge. All muscle and menace, with a jaw that looked carved out of vengeance and cheekbones sharp enough to stab someone.His long body sprawled awkwardly across the too-small mattress, clearly too big for her bed, especially curled the way he was. The lavender silk rope wrapped around his thick wrists and ankles pulled taut where it connected to the bedposts.

Lola did what any rational person would do:

She grabbed the nearest object—a lava lamp—and launched it at his head.

The man shifted just enough to avoid it, lamp exploding against the wall behind him, spraying glittering goo and rainbow stars into the void.

He didn’t flinch.

She screamed involuntarily and then, “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY APARTMENT?! WHY ARE YOU TIED TO MY BED?!”

His voice was deep. Calm. Dangerous.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Her heart pounded.

“Did I—did I invite you here? Are you, like, one of those hotel actors? Is this some weird immersive experience?! Are you trying to rob me because there’s nothing here to steal.”

“You tied me to the bed.”

She blinked. Looked at the rope. Then back at him.

Okay. Yes. Technically… yes it looks like I did that, definitely my handy work.

“You could’ve tied yourself up!” she snapped. “People are into weird shit these days!”

His jaw flexed. “Does that sound like something I would do?”

“I don’t know! You’re terrifying! And your abs have abs! This could be a trap! Maybe you’re reverse-kidnapping me and trying to sue me for false imprisonment!”

He blinked once. Slowly. Like a man choosing peace before war. “Untie me.”

“I don’t even remember last night!” she shouted. “This is what I get for getting caught up in the moment and didn’t question what was in that damn drink! This is why! This is EXACTLY why—”

“Lola.”

She froze.

He said it so calmly. So sure.

She spun, pointing at him like he’d summoned Satan. “HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!”

“Don’t look at me like that!” she barked. “I’m not a psycho! I don’t usually tie up strangers. I’m usually the one getting tied up, not the other way around!”

Enzo

This is what I get for letting Gino talk me into things, something ridiculous happens every time. I should fucking know better. Why on Earth did I think that it was a good idea at the time. Rule number one: Never listen to Gino.

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