This Changes Everything by Gretchen Galway

She kept her voice cheerful and light. Not worried and heavy. Or hot and heavy.
    Oh, for God’s sake, Cleo, get a grip.
    One glance told her the room was empty. She was so relieved she laughed as she walked into the bathroom to tend to her wounds. But then she saw herself in the mirror, and the laughter died.
    She looked terrible. Ponytail askew, nose red, dirt on her cheek, jacket frayed, faded, and stained. Was it worth a thousand dollars to embarrass herself like this? No. Well, it would’ve been if he hadn’t been such a formidable opponent. She’d nearly choked when he’d kissed her hair, but when he’d licked her…
    She was strong, but she wasn’t made of stone. No wonder he was a mogul. He played to win. She played piano. Time to call a truce and enjoy the resort for its own sake. One of the pools overlooking the beach was steaming, obviously well heated. There was that hour-and-a-half massage in the morning. And she still hadn’t eaten a real meal.
    Her rumpled, hoboesque image frowned back at her.
    The joke was on her. She hadn’t dressed down because she wanted to win the bet; she’d done it to protect her pride. If she’d put on a sexy dress and her expensive makeup and had her hair done—and then nobody had believed she was his girlfriend—she would’ve been hurt. For all the progress she’d made since the divorce, she’d feared she couldn’t handle that kind of blow. In other words, she’d been a coward.
    Enough. She turned on one of the many showerheads and got under the hot spray, letting it sting, washing away the evening.
    After she finished and dried herself off with those thick resort towels you could never find at the store, she bandaged her foot and swaddled herself in pajamas and a terry robe, then took the time to blow out her hair, glad she’d had the time and privacy to screw her head back on straight. Now she’d get something to eat and be good as new.
    She was standing in front of the entertainment cabinet, looking through the room service menu, when he stumbled into the room.
    Within seconds, she realized he was as drunk as she’d ever seen him.
    “Cleo,” he said. He strode past the bed and fell to his knees at her feet, dark head slumping forward. “You win.” Slowly, with the pained movements of the intoxicated, he pulled a stack of dollar bills out of a paper bag and began counting them out, setting them down around her feet like a faded green patio.
    “Where did you get a bag of money like that this time of night?”
    He shushed her noisily. “I’m counting. Don’t interrupt. Twenty-seven, twenty-four, thirty…” He began to laugh. “Just kidding. Kidding I don’t know how to count. Twenty—shit. I forget. Let’s start over.”
    She reached down and hauled him upright. “I hope you didn’t knock over a convenience store.”
    “It’s not as much as it looks. Not quite a thousand. Mostly twenties at the bottom. ATM units. Not as funny though.”
    “Not as funny but easier to put in my purse.”
    “Right. Purse. Because you’re a girl.” He grinned. “Cleo.”
    “Yeah, that’s me. You aren’t going to get sick, are you?”
    “Hope not.” His smile faded. “I gave you my germs earlier. Sorry about that.”
    “It’s not your germs I’m worried about. It’s your undigested stomach contents.” She grabbed his arm to stop him from swaying. “You need to sleep this off. Big day tomorrow.”
    “So true. Thanks.” He patted her on the shoulder and lurched away, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. “Did I bring a toothbrush? Oh, right. I already unpacked. I’m a very organized man. I take pride in my”—he burped—“powers of organization.” He went into the bathroom and slammed the door.
    She set down the menu and glanced at the clock. Past eleven. Too late to eat anyway. After scooping up the cash, which she stuck back in the paper bag, she stripped off the robe, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin. As soon as she