33By ten o’clock, I was back in Redwood City, facing the door to Dawna’s hotel room. Through the hardwood, I heard a rumble of male voices.
It was Monday night. Of course Dawna was watching football.
I rapped loudly on the door and the sound went mute. Seconds later, the door swung open and Dawna waved me inside.
She looked ready for bed in her fleece shorts and tank top. A glass of amber liquid over ice perched on the bedside table.
Heading for the orange couch, I heard her flip the security latch.
She followed me as far as the mini-fridge and gave me an inquiring look. “I picked up a sixpack. Want me to crack one open for you?”
“No thanks,” I settled on the couch. “I’m riding a perfect pilsner high.”
Dawna burrowed into a pillow-and-blanket nest on the bed and grabbed the remote.
