I told Gabe that "jammies" were slang for pajamas. He answered with a puzzled look that made me believe his indigenous bunch slept au naturel. He offered me a makeshift camisole from a loud selection of T-shirts touting his off-road business. I turned them down. I couldn't imagine the sort of dreams one might conjure slipping into Morpheus's embrace wearing such abysmal fashion statements. I finally settled for one of his plain white T-shirts. I brushed my hair and rinsed my face of any trace of makeup and slipped the T-shirt on. I took my trousers off and was thankful the shirt reached below my hips. Sort of a way-too-late chaste behavior, considering how I had responded to him earlier, I blushed. I folded my clothes into a neat pile and, holding the bundle against my chest, walked barefo
