Calvin's exhausted brain made the savory transition from sleep to lucid. It was his favorite part of the day.

     Memories of what transpired during his waking life developed, reminding him where he was and how he got there.

     At a quarter to one, he and Genevieve arrived at the Las Vegas Strip. The night sky was clear, but there were remnants of snow on the sidewalks. The temperature was grotesquely low, leaving their noses and fingertips cold and hard like marble.

     Calvin didn't catch a wink of sleep during the drive, and neither did his chauffeur.

     Stardust was their first stop. Calvin was baptized to the sound of coins clattering against metal platforms and machines announcing winners with bells and chimes.

     Genevieve was like a fish in water, while Calvin decided to sit it out before risking his money.

     As he observed Genevieve, however, his mind found a way to keep himself entertained and Genevieve from losing all her funds. Somehow, Calvin developed a science around her hobby.

     He kept track of how much money she'd invest per machine, and whenever she won a large prize, he'd separate her from half of it, giving her the illusion that she won less.

     Without realizing it, she accumulated a large chunk of money with Calvin, money that would have otherwise been donated to the one-armed bandits.

     He also kept his eyes open for angry gamblers, labeling their machines as "hot". These machines, Calvin surmised, were closer to the jackpot, and he'd encourage Genevieve to fill their vacancies right away.

     Genevieve reminded him multiple times that he was under no obligation to babysit, but he enjoyed being the statistician, the risk-analyst, the guardian angel. He celebrated her jackpots vicariously.

     Several hours and cups of coffee later, Calvin was too jittery to think straight. That's when Genevieve pulled a flask of whiskey from her purse and let Calvin go to town.

     But it was a lack of sleep, not the liquor, that got to him.

     His brain played the last bit of memories, including Calvin stumbling out of the car into the ice-cold Nevada night, dragging his feet inside a motel room, and slamming his head against a pillow, leaving it there until sunrise.

     He was lying on his side, hugging the same pillow his head rested on.

     The room he was in smelled of chlorine bleach and empty ashtrays. Very little sunshine slipped through the cheap curtains, making the room extra cold. He was wrapped up in fabric-softener-free bed sheets.

     Where's Genevieve? He peeled his eyes in panic.

     His ears became satellites to the smallest of sounds. Wheels of a housekeeping cart outside the door. The leaky shower head in the bathroom. The rhythmic breathing behind him.

     No.

     He kept still, asking himself how far Genevieve would take their friendship. For a moment, he wondered if someone else shared his bed. He wasn't sure if that was a better alternative.

     Before he could look over his shoulder, a slender hand slid over his pectoral muscles.

     Calvin shivered at the warm contact. Foreign as it was, he liked it.

     Slowly, he turned his neck back. 

     His worst fears were confirmed. Genevieve was sleeping, clung to his shoulder like a koala. Her black hair, damp from a shower the night before, rested on a neighboring pillow. That amazing smell of raspberry marmalade lingered on her skin.

     Calvin gasped in horror. He sat up and crawled backwards, ungluing himself from his bedmate.

     He couldn't deny that she looked splendid, and her morning body heat was bringing much-needed warmth to his cold back, but he was far too shocked to snuggle with her.

     His legs kicked repeatedly as he put distance between them. All the movement tangled the bed sheets to his legs.

     Soon, there was no mattress left. He fell to the floor, dragging the sheets with him.

     His back landed on top of his pile of blue jeans and shoes. His head hit the ground with a thump.

     Calvin howled in pain, muttering expletives and scrunching his eyes. It wasn't an ideal way to start the day, but at least Genevieve wasn't pressed against his nether region early in the morning. That would have been far more disastrous.

     As he opened his eyes, he heard a groan coming from the bed. It was a speechless grumpy noise that said Come back. I miss you.

     Genevieve army crawled across the bed and peeked her head down at the floor where Calvin was lying.

     Her face was both fresh and drowsy, with light pink circles around the edge of her eyelids. Her voice was it's-too-early raspy. "What are you doing down there?"

     Good morning to you, too. "Um, nothing. I just woke up."

     Calvin suddenly remembered what he slept in when he was at home. It wasn't much. For the second time since he met her, Calvin woke up to Genevieve and checked under the covers. He was in his usual UCLA t-shirt and boxers. He looked up at Genevieve. "How did I get out of my clothes?"

     She rested her chin on her hand and put on that evil-villain smirk. "I might have helped a little."

     Uh oh. Calvin couldn't suppress his panic. "What happened last night?"

     "Nothing. You were too soft."

     Too soft? His stomach dropped. His face was horrified.

     She gave a drowsy blink. "Emotionally, that is."

     "Oh," said Calvin.

     He flopped his back flat on the floor in relief. "So we didn't..."

     Genevieve shook her head. "Of course not. You always assume the worse."

     He sighed, but reality set in. Nothing explained how or why they ended up in the same bed. "Did you only get us one room to share?"

     She brought her eyebrows down. Her voice had a little soulful spunk. "I'm not made of money, honey."

     Calvin smiled, but his face turned shocked soon after. "It didn't occur to you to get two beds?"

     She yawned. "No."

     He absorbed her shamelessness. "No?"

     "Not uh. It's chilly. Now, come back to bed and bring the blankets with you. I'm freezing."

     Calvin watched her head disappear behind the mattress. He needed a moment to let everything sink in. He woke up to a beautiful woman cuddling to his back, making a raunchy joke, then casually asking him to be her little spoon. Why wasn't he obeying her right away?

     Because you're a wimp, Leblanc.

     That much was true. He was a wimp around her. He spend so many nights wondering what she looked like post-slumber. Was she just as beautiful without make-up? Was her scent just as delicious? Was she just as alluring sleeping as she was dancing?

     Yes, yes, and yes.

     He got to his feet, wrapping the bed sheets around his waist for insurance. He was a gentleman, but he was still a man.

     Genevieve was stretching out across the mattress, reaching for the top of the headboard while keeping her legs extended. She wore a baby blue shirt that matched her eyes, and the farther she stretched, the higher the hem would rise, revealing more and more the higher her arms reached.

     Calvin was captivated by the sight. He prayed she wouldn't unveil anything forbidden. He couldn't tell if she wore something underneath. Was it a very small pair of shorts? He lassoed his wild eyes away from her toned, athletic legs.

     He focused instead on her sleepwear, which looked oddly familiar. It was a button down work shirt, a good five sizes too large for her tiny frame. Was it...? It couldn't be. "Is that my shirt?"

     She stopped stretching, flopping her arms down by her sides. "Mhm."

     The devil on his shoulder frowned, having wanted to see the hem lifted to its maximum. "Why are you wearing it?"

     Genevieve propped herself up on her elbows. With the top two buttons of the shirt undone, her creamy white neck made a pass at him.  "You said I could."

     He cleared his throat. The air in the room was getting hotter. "I did?"

     "Well, you snored when I asked. I took that as a 'yes'."

     Calvin was no good at snappy wisecracks. This would have been a great time for one, but his mind was polluted with naughty ideas. "You're, um... getting wrinkles all over it."

     Wrinkles? Really? He fought the urge to slam his palm against his forehead.

     Genevieve sat up. Her fingers fiddled with the third button, threatening to undo it. "Fine. I'll give it back."

     "No," he interrupted. It was more of a gasp.

     He needed alone time in his bedroom. Or religion. Or a big bowl of Kellogg's Corn Flakes. Genevieve was doing things to him without even touching him, and he both loved and hated it. "I, uh, I'll be right back."

     As if to break a world record, Calvin bundled up the sheets he was wrapped in and tossed them to Genevieve. It was enough of a distraction to make a getaway to the bathroom.

     As soon as his feet moved from the carpet to the cold bathroom tile, he closed the door. Once inside, he realized he wasn't much safer from his impurities. He looked around, and his mind raced with thoughts of Genevieve disrobing before a steamy shower, coating her naked body in a rich, foamy lather, and stepping out with warm water droplets beaded across her every inch. 

     Calvin could hardly breath. He grabbed the edge of the sink and looked at his reflection in the mirror. What in the world did you get yourself into?

     His eyes moved from the mirror to his waistline. He couldn't rejoined Genevieve in the bedroom, not in his current state, and he wasn't comfortable taking care of himself with nothing but a bathroom door separating them.

     He searched his brain for solutions, and found one that shouldn't have taken so long to think about. Yes, of course.

     Calvin stood in front of the toilet. Urinating proved to be enough to tame his temptations. It would have to do for now. Once he was done, he washed his hands and splashed water on his face, scooping some into his mouth to gargle away the morning breath . It was the closest to a cold shower he would come to for a while. He dried his hands on a dry wash cloth, twisted the door handle open, and took his first brave step into the inhabited bedroom, where Genevieve rested on her stomach with her elbows propped over a pillow.

     She tilted her head. "Everything alright?"

     He nodded.

     She lifted the edge of the sheets. "Good. Get in here."

     Calvin knew arguing would only dig a hole. With all the fear of an American entering a non-English-speaking country, he did as he was told.

     The bed was irresistibly toasty. He wanted to live in it for good, even if that meant keeping Genevieve a yard away.

     Genevieve shivered and grabbed his hand under the sheets. "Let's never go to Las Vegas in February again."

     Calvin's pulse was out of control. He was a hurricane on the inside, a tangled yarn ball of arousal. "Genevieve, this isn't appropriate."

     She scooted her body closer and rested her head on his bicep. "You're in safe hands."

     Calvin's body was on fire. His fantasies were as tempting as ever, but his conscience beat him to the punch."We work together and—"

     She groaned. "Calvin, do you trust me?"

     He looked down at her. It was the least erotic question she could have asked, but it was a good question still. Did he trust her? Could he? "That's not the issue."

     "Do you, yes or no?"

     He didn't want to make her angry. "Well, yes, but—"

     "Then don't argue with me."

     She rested an arm over his belly and one leg over his, locking him in an unbreakable embrace. Her soft, tender calf rubbed against his hairy shin.

     Calvin's heart pounded with violent vigor. He couldn't deny it any longer. He wanted this woman. Right then and there, more than just one time, and on more than just the bed.

     Genevieve moved her head to his chest and laughed against it, sending vibrations through his body and the mattress below. Her fingernails roamed across his field of chest hairs. "You're so easy to agitate."

     He maneuvered his trapped arm through her soft body and the bed, wrapped it around the top part of her waist, and pulled her close. Arousal was making him braver. "So are you."

     She taunted him like a child. "Not uh."

     Don't do it. He couldn't resist. "Oh, yeah? Who's Pablo?"

     Genevieve went stiff. She pulled herself from his side, propped herself up on one elbow, and looked down at him in disbelief.

     Calvin wanted to kick himself. He waited for the inevitable explosion.

     Her look was as icy as Nevada wind. "Why did you go there?"

     Before Calvin could answer, she moved over to the opposite end of the bed, giving him her back. "Go to hell."

     You're an idiot, Calvin told himself. He couldn't believe how quickly he ruined a perfect moment. He grunted at the ceiling, asking himself, once again, why he was terrible with women.

     He rested on his side and stared at the back of her head. "I'm sorry, Genevieve."

     She said nothing, nor did she move.

     Calvin closed his eyes. His arms missed her. He contemplated scooting over and holding her, but he didn't want to risk rejection.

     After five minutes, she rolled over to face him. Her voice was somber. "Pablo was my boss."

     He opened his eyes. His silent treatment sentence was served, and for that, he was happy. "Your boss? At Andrade?"

     She shook her head. "At my first job, years ago."

     Genevieve reached over and touched his shoulder like it was something expensive on the other side of a store window. She hugged herself and nudged her head towards his chest.

     Calvin couldn't deny her sanctuary. He motioned her to come closer.

     She smiled and curled up in his arms. They got comfortable as she spoke, and ended up in the same position they were before, her head on his chest and her limbs wrapped around him like vines. "I was nineteen and I fell for him. Hard. He was my first love. My first everything."

     Calvin couldn't stop the jealousy from invading his mind. "Did he break your heart?"

     She sighed. "In the worst way."

     He placed his free hand over her tricep. "Was he unfaithful?"

     She said nothing.

     Calvin looked down to make sure she wasn't sleeping.

     "He was married."

     He pulled her into him, feeling like a hero. "Oh, he was a scumbag."

     "Yes, and so was I."

     "That's not true. You didn't know he was married."

     "That's just it. I did know, and I kept seeing him."

     His grip on Genevieve loosened. The pedestal below her feet vanished. How could he forget that she was human?

     She looked up at him. "You don't have to judge me. I've been paying the price ever since."

     Her confession made Calvin want her slightly less. Slightly. "How?"

     "Fear of karma."

     Calvin sat up a little. "Fear of what?"

     Genevieve looked away. Her grip around him was not as tight. The conversation was clearly wearing her out. "I can't be in a relationship. Every time I try, I'm afraid karma will serve me the same dish I cooked up when I was young."

     For the first time, Genevieve looked her age. She was just as beautiful, but now she had more stories written across her face. "You said you weren't built for romance," said Calvin.

     She shrugged. "I might have been at one point, but I've ruined all chances for myself."

     He wanted to touch her face to comfort her, but he didn't have the courage. He opted for lightening the mood instead. "Hm. And I look like this Pablo that you speak of?"

     A giggle escaped her lips. She ran her fingernails through his hair as she examined it. "A bit, yes."

     Don't do it. "Is that why you can't stop flirting with me?"

     She lifted her eyebrows at the boldness. Her combing fingers froze in his dark, curly locks.

     He couldn't take back his words, but he couldn't take another mixed signal. She was in a vulnerable state for once, and he was going to seize the opportunity to do the homework Roger gave him. "Genevieve, why do you do it? Why do you take me out dancing and get me drunk and tell me about your life while we lie in bed together?"

     She gave him the sweeping eyes-nose-lips stare. Her lips were slightly parted. "Why do you go along with it?"

     He blinked. What reasons did he have other than 'Because I like it'?

     Genevieve went back to combing his hair. "I am coming on pretty strong, though, aren't I?"

     Calvin smiled at the feeling. He loved her fingers on his scalp. "Only a little."

     "Okay, Tang, you caught me. I do have... a proposal for you, something I think you'd be perfect for."

     Calvin explored her expression for sarcasm, humor, or pain. Anything to negate that she said she was using him.

     She looked back at him, waiting for him to recollect his thoughts.

     She wants something from you, Cal. "A proposal? What kind of proposal?"

     Genevieve yawned, pulled her hand back, and placed her head back on his chest. "Let's get some sleep first. We'll discuss it in a few hours over pancakes."

     Calvin wanted to protest, but as soon as her ear hit his chest, all bets were off. All he could do was envelope her in his arms.

     She was using him.

     What could she possibly want? Why was he, of all people, perfect for her proposal? He never thought he was perfect for anything.

     But he was perfect for keeping Genevieve warm at night. And keeping her money safe. And reminding her of Pablo.

     So many ideas came to mind. Then, a hypothesis came together in the front of his brain, one that made him sick.

     Does Genevieve... want a child? One that looks like Pablo?

     He supposed anything was possible. But was he willing to go along with a plan that extreme?

     He looked down at Genevieve and kissed his self-respect goodbye. Absolutely.