From JANIE:

I woke up hung over and I had no idea where in the hell I was. My first clue was a pair of black panties I had wrapped around my wrist. I vaguely remembered having them stuffed into my mouth at one point, and then—had they been used to tie me to the bed post?

I rolled to my back from my belly with a groan. Oh my god, I was sore! My pussy was sore, my arms were sore, my thighs actually trembled when I tried to move...

What in the hell was I doing last night?

Then Catherine sighed and shifted in her sleep, pulling the covers up, and it all came back. Well, most of it anyway. I looked at the smooth curve of her spine, her hair spilling over her shoulders like a river of fire, and felt faint. I didn't even want to think about what I'd done or said the night before. I had to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. TJ and Ronnie were going to be worried sick. They'd probably called a million times already. Where was my phone?

I found my panties and shoes on the floor and remembered my dress was in the living room. I slipped my panties on and carried my shoes, easing open the bedroom door as quietly as I could. Behind me, Catherine sighed and rolled again, but then she was quiet. The door clicked shut behind me and I crept down the hall, past half a dozen closed doors—how many rooms do they have in this apartment?—past the private penthouse elevator, looking for the living room.

The blinds were still open wide and I blinked at the brightness of the morning, my head throbbing. I'd obviously had way more to drink the night before than I’d realized. Shading my eyes and groping my way around the couch, I returned to the scene of the crime, hunting around the coffee table and in front of the door wall for my things. Problem was, they were nowhere to be found.

I stood there for a moment, lost in foggy thought, trying to recall. Had I gotten up in the middle of the night to get my clothes? I didn't think so, but I was pretty hung over. I couldn't be sure. Maybe—

"Are you looking for these?"

I probably would have screamed if my throat and mouth hadn't already been so filled with cotton.

"Who are you?" I squeaked, my arms snapping quickly closed to cover my breasts, my shoes still in hand, but I knew it was too late. And I knew, in an instant, who he was. Of course. It was Catherine's husband. If nothing else, I would have recognized him by the vanity wedding photo over the fireplace—the dark, curly hair and smiling eyes were a giveaway, although he was a few years older in person. And there he was, standing there looking scruffy and disheveled like he'd just woken up, too, wearing a navy colored robe belted at the waist and holding my clothes out in one hand like a waiter.

"I'm Josh." He took two steps forward, putting my folded dress and my purse on the coffee table and taking a step back to turn around. "Go ahead. I won't look."

"Thanks," I croaked. It was a little late for the whole not-looking thing, but I grabbed my dress and pulled it quickly over my head, wishing now that it was made of more material.

"I think you have some messages." He turned slightly to say this over his shoulder, still keeping his eyes averted. "Your phone's been beeping."

I unzipped my purse and checked. Twelve messages—ten texts and two voice mails. Of course, the voice mails were Ronnie and TJ, respectively, the first asking where I was, the second asking if I was okay. The texts were all Lil. I flipped my phone closed—I'd read them later.

"Thanks," I said again, clearing my throat. "I'm dressed now. You can turn around."

He did, giving my outfit a once-over. "It looks much better on. So what's your name?"

I smoothed my hair. "I'm sorry. I'm Jane. Janie."

"Well, Jane-Janie... it's nice to meet you." He held out his hand. I took a few barefoot steps toward him to shake it. What else could I do?

Never mind that it happened to be the hand which had been buried up to the wrist in his wife's cunt the night before... Thinking about that made me want to pass out.

"It's just Janie."

"Want some coffee, Just-Janie?" He nodded behind him toward the kitchen. So that's where he'd been when I thought I was sneaking by, I realized. "It's fresh."

I shook my head. "No, I should...I need to get home."

"I'll get you a car." He walked over to the wall, reaching for a button on the intercom.

"No!" I caught up with him just in time, covering his hand with mine. He looked at me in surprise, eyebrows raised. I moved my hand as if I’d been burned. "I mean...I can take the subway."

"In that?" He blinked at me. "I couldn't live myself knowing I let you out of here to ride the subway wearing that."

"I wore it last night," I protested.

Oh crap. I'd also worn a wrap I'd checked at the door and had forgotten to retrieve when Catherine and I left 1 Oak in such a hurry the night before.

"Which is, I'm sure, one of the myriad of reasons Catherine decided to bring you home." He smiled as he began to unbelt his robe. I took a wary step back, my eyes widening, and he shook his head, shrugging the robe off his shoulders. He was wearing blue and gray striped pajama pants underneath. "Here. Put this on. Let's get you some coffee to help your head and I'll call you a car to take you home, okay?"