Suddenly, an air-conditioned breeze crosses over my shoulders, putting on hold the question of which girl-potion Riley’s might be spiking in my O.J.

Biscuit, Riley’s four legged co-conspirator and autonomous vacuum, has found himself caught in folds of my comforter!

He’s yanking at the draped fabric, slipping it past my goose-bumped shoulders and revealing my tank-top and pair of tits to the room.

I relay a thought toward my hands, Cover yourself! Please, God, cover yourself! But the message seems to only get caught up in my embarrassment, seizing every fine motor control Alexa’s body once possessed.