soulofsomething
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When you wake up in a bed with a stranger and without any hangover whatsoever, there are a number of possible explanations—none of which Alice liked. It wasn’t her bed. It wasn’t her room. And, rather crucially, it wasn’t her man. On the bright side, the pajamas were definitely hers, and that was the end of the bright side.
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She knew he was standing there beside her, waiting for her to notice. She had noticed, actually, the moment he came to her table. But she had this thing—she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acting like he was the most important figure in the room and that everyone should feel blessed by his mere presence. That's all.