I emerge from the hotel bathroom clad only in a crisp white button-down shirt, on loan from my pilot, and I’ve made the bold decision to button only the bottom three buttons. The rest of my clothes have been sent down to the hotel laundry and won’t be back until morning. My panties are in the laundry bag too. Go big or go home, as they say.
I find my pilot standing by the side of the one queen-sized bed occupying the upscale hotel room. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with a Green Bay Packers logo over the left breast, and a matching set of green and gold cotton boxer shorts.
“Just need to brush my teeth,” she says, and scoots past me to the bathroom.
I begin to wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have sent my underwear down to the hotel laundry. But then I catch a glimpse of my pilot by the sink
