When I wake up, the first thing I see is a blank white wall. Then it hits me that I’m lying on my side in a bed that doesn’t feel like mine.

Wait, that wall doesn’t look like mine.

I’m not in my house, am I?

As I sit up and scrub my hands over my face, I realize I’m in the guesthouse at Climax Vineyards, and memories flood me from last night: wine, food, candlelight, and … oh, fuckin’ A. Now I remember Gwen’s lips barely pressing against mine, blowing my head apart and getting my juices running just before she passed out.

Okay. So I’m in the guesthouse, and if I’m in here, then where is …?

I look over my shoulder to find Gwen burrowed under the covers next to me.

My pulse blasts right along with my cock, but then I realize that, one, I’m still fully dressed except for my boots. And two, I was sleeping on top of the covers while she’s below them. One plus two equals zero chance that I got laid last night, and that’s a good thing. I mean, sure, I’d hoped to get Gwen into bed eventually, but this wasn’t quite the scenario I had in mind. Still, as I sit here and take in the sight of her curled up next to me with her blonde hair spread over the pillow and a peaceful look on her face, I feel hunger maul me with its claws out, growling deep and low, wanting and craving …

Instinctively, I start to reach over, just to stroke her hair, but I stop myself. What if she wakes up and thinks that I’m pawing at her? Fuck that.

Tensing, I quietly get up from the bed, remembering everything now: Gwen drinking too much, me carrying her here and then slipping her under the covers. I didn’t get shit for sleep because I was keeping an eye on her all damned night, and, also, she got restless at one point and muttered something about it being too damned hot while kicking off her jeans under the covers. I can see them on the carpet even now, right next to her jaunty blue boots and leather jacket, and I have no idea how I fucking survived with her half-dressed and only an arm’s reach away from me. Hell, I can even smell her sweet shampoo, and it’s like a tractor beam locking onto me and trying to draw me in.

I tear myself away from the bed and head for the bathroom to take a piss. I decide to let Gwen sleep in so I can snap out of this with a cold shower. Maybe then it’ll be easier to wake her up and explain to her how I really did keep my hands off her tight body all night, even though she woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own and—

My phone dings from a table near the door. I lunge for it and turn off the sound before checking to see if Gwen woke up to find herself in her top and panties with the werewolf of Marloe in the room.

Still sleeping like a champ, thank God.

As I slip down the hall and to the bathroom, I see that Mom has sent an early text. It’s 6:04 a.m. and I’m usually up and around by now, so she has no idea that she’s caught me with someone else’s pants down. It’s not my fault, but still.

Miguel told me you had a date with the twin who “busted you down.”

Dead man walking, Miguel, you motherfucker. I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me. If I ignore Mom, she’ll only call.

Yes. We had a good time.

That’s all she needs to know, and it ain’t no lie. Up until the end, things were going better than I expected with Gwen. Then again, I might need a ruling from an official on that: can you really say a date went well if the girl you were with passed out?

Mom comes back with: This is the difficult twin, right?

Quinn: Not that difficult, Mom.

Mom: Not like Debra.

Yes, she knows all about my nightmare girlfriend who almost got me jailed again on false charges and, like Miguel, she’s constantly reminding me to have better taste.

Quinn: She’s not like Debra at all.

Mom: Will you be seeing her again?

I have no answer for that. All I know is that I want to see Gwen, even if she can’t hold her liquor. But I’ll make sure she does hold it next time, if I get another chance. She got drunk much faster than I’m used to with the women I usually date, but knowing Gwen, she’d probably have told me to kiss her ass if I had strongly suggested she slow down, and then she would’ve done the opposite, anyway. She was on a real roll, as if getting her out of that tasty but dingy grease pit of a diner flipped a switch in her. It was like she’d had a giant weight taken off her shoulders and she was breathing easy for the first time. She let the ice melt and enjoyed the food and …

Am I wrong in thinking we had a lot to talk about? More than a few things in common? I haven’t had a woman hanging onto my words in … ever? But that’s just what she was doing when I told her about all the jobs I’d been on and what I’d learned from them.

Mom: You still there?

Quinn: Yeah. I think we’ll be seeing each other again.

Because if Gwen let loose that much last night, I imagine she can do it again. All I have to do is keep on keepin’ on and lure her in a little bit more until she’s comfortable around me without the help of wine.

Mom texts again with a series of smiley faces, and I laugh quietly, then start to get cleaned up. When I hop into the shower, the water is cold, but there’s steam inside of me as I fantasize about Gwen sneaking into the bathroom, then sliding into this stall …

So, okay, the shower takes a little longer than usual. Actually, a lot longer, and after I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist, I check the medicine cabinet to see if there’s some ibuprofen in there for Gwen. There is. I can also offer her water or a greasy breakfast or whatever’s going to cure the wicked hangover she’s sure to have.

The only sound I hear is my throttled pulse as I walk to the bedroom to grab a set of spare clothing and put it on before I wake up Gwen. The more I think about seeing her in that bed, the harder I’m getting, and I only hope I can get those jeans on so I can halfway hide the morning wood that’s still threatening to get the best of me.

I push the bedroom door open, the breath catching in my lungs as I prepare to see her blonde hair on the pillow again, but when I look at the bed, the air goes right out of me.

Gwen’s already gone.