“Hurry back,” he said, still looking at the television.

When I returned, Brett was under the covers, asleep. A feeling of hysteria rose in my throat. He must not have been attracted to me. I must have done something wrong. I wanted to wake him up and make him talk to me, but I couldn’t let myself tumble over that cliff. I didn’t want to scare Brett away. I tiptoed over to the mini bar, took out a few mini vodkas and an assortment of chocolate and dry roasted nuts, and piled them on the nightstand. Then I settled back against the pillows, opened a chocolate bar, and put on the Playboy Channel.

The next morning, the sun pried my eyes open. I turned to the clock. Eleven a.m. Groggy and hungover, I groped around for Brett, worming myself over to his side of the bed. It was empty. I sat up. My head hurt. My swollen eyes itched. I needed coffee. Maybe Brett was in the restaurant. I would look for him there.

I rolled over to the side of the bed and swung my legs down onto the floor.

“Whoa, there!”

“Aaah!” I yelled.

Brett lay on the carpet in his underwear, doing sit-ups. “Good morning, Jackie Gold.” He gave me a big smile. “I’m almost finished. One ninety-seven. One ninety-eight. One ninety-nine… Done.”

“Good morning, yourself,” I answered, testing the waters. Was he happy? Did he still like me?

Brett jumped up and opened the curtains, flooding the room with light.

“Whoa,” I moaned, covering my eyes with one hand and scooching back under the blankets.

Inside my suitcase, tempering the arsenal of sexy lingerie, was a demure robe I had planned to wear only for greeting room service. “Umm, can you please hand me that bag?” I pointed. I wasn’t ready for him to see me naked in the light of day, especially not after last night’s coitus interruptus.

My mouth tasted terrible. My head ached. I needed Tylenol or Alka Seltzer. Or better, a Campari and soda. Brett, on the other hand, appeared as if he’d emerged from a health spa.

He strutted over to where our bags still lay in the entryway. I tried not to ogle him as he approached in his tighty-whities.

“Here you go, ma’am.” He hoisted my suitcase on the bed.

Ma’am? I bristled, taken aback, then reminded myself he was from a part of the country where that was considered polite. “Thanks.”

I extracted my cosmetics case and retrieved the robe. “Would you mind closing the curtains a bit?”

“Okay, but it’s a gorgeous day! We gotta get outside into that sunshine.” His voice was about a hundred decibels too loud. As he walked toward the window, I scurried into the bathroom.

A shower and four Tylenol later, I emerged in the robe, a towel wrapped around my head, feeling not quite refreshed but at least passable.