The bedside clock said 3:15. Jose would be up in a couple of hours and she did not want him to know she’d had a “sleepover” with his hero. She would not build up his hopes like that.

Sliding stealthily from under warm blankets, she felt around for her bra and panties. I cannot see a damn thing. She patted around the nightstand next to her, where she did find her phone. After a minute of nudging around the carpet with her toes and coming up short, she decided to leave her underwear behind. A sacrifice to the sex gods.

A picture of herself and Duke from last night floated through the throb in her head. She remembered where she’d left her underwear. On the kitchen table. As you do.

She ran her hand over the wall until she found the door to what she hoped was the master bathroom, stepped carefully into the dark void, shut the door, and turned on the light. Bright light! Her brain screamed, sending a jolt of pain to the back of her eyes to let her know it wasn’t pleased.

In a wall of mirrors, she saw a young woman with crazy hair, one false eyelash missing and the other dangling. And a tight body. She was surprised. She hadn’t seen herself naked in a full mirror for quite some time. She ran her hand over her flat stomach, cupped her breasts. You bangin’, she thought, and laughed softly, and possibly still drunk.

She flushed and dropped her hands. Duke had spent quality time with her breasts last night, if she was to trust the river of half-images pouring through her mind.

Angel realized her only clothes were a pair of Spanx. And the dress and high heels—but she wasn’t about to put those back on. She’d leave them with Duke. She had no desire to see Kinley. Checking out the mess in the mirror, she didn’t really want to see Duke, either.

She spotted Duke’s gym bag on a rack of metal shelves, which also held at least fifty pairs of kicks … Adidas, New Balance, even some skater shoes. There were a number of Nikes, including a pair of high-tops with “The Duke” stitched in black and white thread on a shiny gold background, using the pointy Bronx Bolts team font.

Only two pairs of dress shoes, which made her smile. Digging through his gym bag, she found a stack of sweatshirts and gym shorts. She chose shorts with a drawstring and a plain black hoodie she hoped he wouldn’t miss. She could have fit another person in the sweatshirt with her, but at least the volumes of material hid that she wasn’t wearing a bra. There was also a pair of rubber shower sandals in the bag, the only footwear that looked to cost less than two hundred dollars. Well, it’s these or barefoot.