"Forget about it," Chris told me. "We've got a room. We're grown ups. We can share it for the next 6 hours before we have to head to Zaragoza. If you move to another hotel, it'll cost us hours."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked her, wondering if she was even drunker than I was.

"No problem," she assured me. "Let's go, I have to get out of this outfit."

We took the old-fashioned elevator to our room, and she was undressing before the key was out of the door.

"God, my feet are killing me," she moaned. "What's with all these Tapas bars having you stand all...