Eros Ramazzotti

I can see her fighting back the urge to break down. I stare at her in astonishment. How would she even know about that? Was she in her room all day? Spying on me? Not that I have a problem with that. It tells me that she really was thinking about me. I guess the woman had been dressed fairly whorish. It wouldn’t take a detective to figure out what she was. Usually, this sort of misunderstanding would be funny, but right now, it’s not because Athena looks like she’s about to burst a gut.

“How do you know about her?” I ask.

“I ran into her when...