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Chapter 13
13 The next morning, I woke wearing strange pajamas in a strange bed. I turned my head slowly, partly because I was hungover and partly because I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was alone. In the guest bedroom. I let out a sigh of relief, dumbassery averted. Roger was a dear friend (a very attractive, dear friend) and I’d had fun with him last night, but life gets complicated quickly when you sleep with your colleagues. There was a knock at the door, presumably a repetition of what had woken me. And then another knock, followed by my name. I struggled to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Yes,” I croaked. “Breakfast,” Roger said. “Now.” I rolled (literally) out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Roger handed me a glass of red liquid. “Bloody Mary?” I asked. “Virgin Mary,”
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