John Andrews pulled the covers back from his face, slowly opened his eyes, and croaked out a curse. The early dawn light that managed to make its way through his curtains hurt like a stab wound.
“Crap,” he said as he elbowed himself into a sitting position, put his feet on the cold floor, and started to bat his hands in the direction of the alarm. The i***t announcer was saying it was unseasonably cold for late October. Like he needed reminding since he could nearly see his breath in the cold bedroom. He stood, shivered, padded into the bathroom to pee, then slipped on his terrycloth robe and slippers and headed downstairs to make coffee. At the bottom of the stairs, he flipped the thermostat from 50˚ up to 70˚. What had he been thinking last night? —well, he hadn’t been thinking now had
