She brushes grit off her kneecaps and shoots me a scowl. From the fire in that scowl, I’m guessing that a ‘round four’ is not on the menu for us this morning. Bummer. My head is still light and foggy from rounds one, two and three. Meanwhile, she’s rushing around like she’s urgently got somewhere to be. At five in the morning. In fact, with each second that ticks by, it’s becoming increasingly clear that this woman regrets ever coming back to this motel room with me in the first place. Well, that sucks. I know for a fact that my ‘performance’ earlier definitely wasn’t the problem. Mere
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