He had a nice body, Drue decided, not as wiry and lean as Trey, who spent all his spare time surfing or kiteboarding, but muscular and toned.

Jonah glanced at the noisy window air conditioner, which barely cooled the room. “Doesn’t it get hot in here?” he asked, kicking off his loafers and unzipping his shorts, letting them fall to the floor.

“Not as hot as it’s gonna get.” She held out her arms, and he smiled and joined her on the bed.

She awoke with a start, her heart racing. Her head throbbed and her mouth tasted like a sewer. She was startled to hear the sound of soft snoring. Slowly, she turned her head. Sunlight seeped through the window and now she saw, sprawled facedown beside her, a sleeping, naked man. She glanced down and realized that she was also naked.

“What the…” She started to sit up, but a jagged lightning strike of pain threatened to split her skull in half.

Drue sank back down onto her pillow. Slowly, the previous evening’s events came back to her. “Come to happy hour,” her father had said. “Meet the team,” he’d said. “Drink up,” he’d urged. She was pretty sure Brice hadn’t meant for her to get shit-faced and literally take one for the team.

“Oh God,” she muttered, as she vaguely remembered how easily she’d shed her inhibitions once she’d willingly guzzled the equivalent of half a bottle of tequila. She looked down at Jonah’s sleeping form. Just how drunk had he been?

She groped around on the floor beside the bed until she found her cell phone, thumbing the home button to bring it back to life, and gasping when she saw the time. Eight o’clock! She had to be showered, dressed and at work, in downtown St. Pete, which was thirty minutes away, in an hour.

Her stomach roiled and she ran for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in the nick of time. She kicked the door shut, knelt and retched until she felt she might have barfed up her own toenails.

“Oh God.” She sank onto the edge of the bathtub. “What the hell did I do?” she whispered.

Drue shook Jonah’s shoulder. She’d taken a hasty shower and gotten dressed. “Wake up.”

He didn’t move. She shook him harder, and slowly, he turned his head. His eyes opened slowly. “Huh?” Spittle left a narrow trail from his mouth to his chin.

“Wake up! You’ve gotta get out of here. I have to get to work.”

He groaned and rolled onto his back. “What time is it?”

“It’s eight-thirty. I’ve got to leave. It’s my second day of work and I can’t be late.”

He shot straight up, looked down, blushed and covered himself with the sheet. “Eight-thirty? Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”